


Bloodstream

by N9ne



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Douche Duo, Fast Motorcycles, Jake makes up unsavory names for everyone, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Wesker's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N9ne/pseuds/N9ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jake is taken by Carla, it's not Sherry who's with him. It's Piers, the soldier who Jake can't stand, but can't deny an attraction to either. Jake strikes up a bargain with Carla, who promises to keep Piers alive as long as Jake co-operates.</p>
<p>Jake's not sure how much longer she'll keep to her promise... or how much longer he can deny the spark with Piers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from Ed Sheeran's song 'Bloodstream', which I ~~almost exclusively~~ listened to while writing this fic.
> 
> I don't own Resident Evil; I do own a "If Daryl Dies We Riot" mug that I have an unhealthy attachment to.

Jake had learned long ago to be dubious of people. People were rarely what they presented themselves as and too many times Jake had learned the lesson the hard way. It seemed like today with Sherry would be no different.

When Sherry had assured Jake that she would ‘take care of any BSAA soldiers’ they came across, he had to admit he assumed she had something planned. Perhaps more sophisticated than just running into the midst of a squad screaming about how she was an agent for national security.

“Sherry Birkin, National Security!”

Jake rolls his eyes so hard he feels the beginning of a headache.

As bewildered BSAA members watch Sherry stomp past, Jake hangs back trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. He’s seriously going to count it a win if he makes it out alive now that he has both sides of the conflict out for his blood, literally, and the world’s most incompetent agent protecting him. 

Not to mention his own personal cybernetic-enhanced B.O.W. stalker. 

His life really is all rainbows and sunshine.

Whatever though, he probably shouldn’t be complaining too heavily. He’s about to get fifty million for a pint of his blood which is, bar none, the best thing to happen to him, ever. All Jake needs to do is stay alive, get his money and disappear. Not that he needs the money anymore, hasn’t for a long time. His mother’s… gone, and her poor health had been the driving force behind his mercenary career. Now he doesn’t know any different. 

He’ll get his money and come right back here, doing what he knows best. The skills of a mercenary aren’t easily transferred into a desk job.

“Captain, that man is a wanted insurgent.”

Jake drags his blank stare away from the building opposite him, already done with this exchange. He’s not sure how long Sherry’s planning on hanging around the BSAA, but he hopes it’s only long enough to make it through their barricades. 

Judging by her buddy-buddy exchange with the one in charge, he guesses his hopes are futile.

Thankfully, Sherry saves him from having to speak, as his mouth has gone as dry as sandpaper. “He’s under the protection of the US government. He’s not a threat.”

“Unless someone pays me to be,” Jake mutters under his breath dismissively, still not completely sure about the whole ‘we’ll pay any amount for a drop of your blood thing’. When something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. That’s been his experience anyway.

_“What did you just say?”_

His eyes meet the distrustful eyes of the soldier who spoke up, and Jake inhales sharply. His heart turns over like an engine starting, thudding painfully in his chest and his eyes widen as he meets the gaze of the man who spoke.

Yeah, he and Sherry cannot stick around these guys, he thinks furiously, unable to form rational thoughts other than _‘abort! Abort mission!’_

With everyone’s eyes on him now, he draws himself up to his full height. “What?” he asks belligerently.

The response is lost as the attention is dragged away from Jake and put on the more pressing matter of a gigantic B.O.W. being airlifted into the conflict. Jake takes a couple steps back as it lands on the ground behind him, because seriously, _what the fuck_ , and distantly hears Sherry volunteer them to help.

_I’m so unbelievably fucked_ , he thinks in disgust as he readies his weapons at his side in preparation to fight.

 

Jake feels irritation snake along his spine as he sits forgotten, listening Chris and Sherry compare notes on Chris' sister Claire. She apparently did something for Sherry back in some town, not that Jake cares enough to pay real close attention to the details. He couldn’t care less about Chris, Claire or Sherry. 

Jake slowly disassembles his pistol to clean it, drawing out the task as long as he can to keep his mind and hands occupied. He’s already bored, impatient and irritated having to sit here and do nothing while BSAA soldiers clear the area. Jake’s itching to get out there and join them because that’s something he can do, something he’s good at. He doesn’t have it in him to make mindless chit-chat and he can’t afford to care about anyone around him. Especially not anyone around him here, since after they eliminate the bio-terrorism threat, the soldiers will just pull back to the states and he’ll still be here, fighting the government in Edonia’s civil war.

He’s better off strangling the soldier next to himself, than befriending him from a personal stand point, though Jake doubts that would go over well, under the protection of the US government or not.

There’s a click as the BSAA operative next to Jake slides his scope back onto his sniper rifle, and makes the necessary adjustments. His shoulders are tense as he hunches over the weapon, a sullen expression on his face. Jake suspects the squad drew straws as to who would watch him and marksman next to him had lost. 

Jake doesn’t know why they bother. He’s an ally of theirs, as long as the US government is the one offering the most amount of cash.

After all, never hurts to keep your options open.

They’re all sitting inside of the destroyed buildings in the city square, cramped like sardines in can, which isn’t helping Jake’s sense of total confinement. BSAA soldiers are running around outside of the dilapidated building, setting up camp and new headquarters, preparing to spend the night in what Jake can only hope is secured territory.

Another soldier, Jake guesses a rookie by the way the guy shies away from his own shadow, steps in through the missing living room wall and hands out blankets and rations before running out to get more. The soldiers who have their rations dig in eagerly, ravenous after a long day.

Jake reassembles his pistol and then eyes his SMG wondering how long he’ll be able to drag that task out. He casts a side-long glance to where Chris and Sherry are sitting; they’re deeply engrossed in conversation and, judging by their now serious faces, they’re probably discussing him. That, and Sherry keeps glancing his way every so often.

Good thing she’s a special agent and not a secret agent he thinks surlily. With a grunt, he picks up the assault rifle and begins the mundane task of taking it apart.

Rookie returns, fresh supplies in his arms. He marches quickly over to where Jake and his very own personal warden are sitting. "Lieutenant Nivans, would you care for a blanket and provisions, sir?" he asks hesitantly, holding out his bundle of goods like an offering.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and examines his guard a little closer. Lieutenant? Jake noticed the guy before, when he and Sherry had stumbled across the BSAA before all the shit went down with the two giant B.O.W.s; though not just because the guy recognized Jake an insurgent, Jake grudgingly admits to himself.

It might have something to do with the fact that his pulse is jumping erratically from the proximity, and he’s glad for his jacket’s collar otherwise everyone would be able to see the perpetual flush that’s spread over the back of his neck.

It’s been a long time since Jake’s felt any sort of attraction to anyone, and he’s not happy that it comes in the form of a member of the BSAA. Jake hates the feelings, like his stomach’s turned to soup and he can’t breathe properly. It makes him a liability. Nothing good comes from caring, especially not here. All he wants to do is the job, get his money and move the fuck on. He knows getting the job done won’t involve making good on a wish to press their bodies together.

Jake straightens his back abruptly as the last thought dawns on him, his spine cracking in protest. He’d shuffle further away from Nivans, if it wouldn’t draw attention to himself. Instead Jake leans as far away from the sniper as he can, and pointedly avoids eye contact. 

At least the sniper won’t bother him if he thinks that Jake has an aversion to his presence, and that’s what Jake needs. Needs the BSAA soldier to leave him alone, and if the only way to get him to do that is to feign distaste then Jake’s more than willing to do that.

It shouldn’t be too hard, when he’s already irritated with the situation and with himself.

"Finn, we aren't in boot camp. You can call me Piers. And thank you," Piers says, accepting the food and blanket. 

Finn looks uncertain but nods jerkily before he turns to Jake and recoils a tad from the open animosity on Jake’s face. Good, Jake thinks churlishly as he snaps the sights back on the rifle. Jake accepts the bundle Finn gives him, before the latter hightails away from Jake as fast as he can without breaking into a run.

Sherry says something and Chris lets out a guffaw of laughter, almost tumbling off his stool in the process. Jake grinds his teeth together. Jake doesn’t know why, just that the good Captain rubs him the wrong way and if he has to stay cramped in this building in close proximity for one more minute he’s going to lose his shit. He shoves his pistol back in his thigh holster, shoulders his assault rifle and his pack and strides out of the building and down the street.

Jake hears Piers curse from behind him as he struggles to gather up all his equipment and follow. Jake tries not to make it look like he’s fleeing, but he’s not going to give Piers a chance to catch up, taking advantage of his long legs and lengthening his stride. He’s halfway down the block, before Piers catches up to him. "What the hell are you doing?" he demands.

"Taking a walk," Jake drawls, sparing a scathing look over his shoulder at Piers. Disdain has always been the best way in the past to prevent unwanted attention. "Didn't know you were interested in joining."

"I'm more interested in eating my food," Piers corrects, staring icily back. "Perhaps we could go back and do that."

Jake turns back around and resumes his pace, waving Piers off dismissively. He hopes the gesture will aggravate him. "Like I said, I'm going for a walk. You don't need to follow me around like a puppy."

He can’t see the look Piers is giving him, but he can feel the glare trained on the back of his head. To Piers' credit though, and to Jake’s irritation, he remains silent, seeming to realize that Jake wants a fight.

Scowl firmly in place, Jake walks down the road a few minutes until he reaches the block they had fought the super-sized B.O.W. a few hours ago. BSAA members are still torching the remains of the corpse, and several squads are littered about on the road, helping evacuate the last remaining citizens out of the city.

Jake's mood darkens. Death is no stranger to Jake, given his occupation, but these were unarmed civilians. They hadn't even been given opportunity to evacuate before the J'avo descended upon them.

Jake tightens his jaw grimly, turns on his heel and stalks back past a confused Piers. He turns right at the first intersection and sits down on the curb, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He opens the MRE package and digs in. The beef teriyaki, if nothing else, fills the void.

After a couple moments of tense silence Piers sits down near him, casting Jake a wary glance. He slowly opens his own meal and follows suit. They eat without speaking, the only sounds of their spoons scraping the plastic packaging amplified in the silence. 

Uncomfortable though Jake is, sitting on this curb next to a man who makes Jake feel like there’s not enough air and his heart pound in his chest, it’s far preferable to listening to Chris and Sherry prattle. 

He finishes eating too quickly, the food barely filling the gnawing emptiness. He stuffs all the garbage back in the original packaging, licking his fingers and brushing his hands off on his pants. He steals a glance over at Piers who is still eating and staring off in to space. Jake wants to be asshole, and walk away leaving Piers to scramble to finish his food and follow; he wouldn’t be acting out of character, and Piers would be pissed. 

He also wants to sit here in this moment, suspended in time. It’s not altogether comfortable, and the silence is brimming with tension but, ironically enough, it’s also the most relaxed Jake has felt in months. This is exactly why he needs to stand up and get away, find Sherry and demand that they get a move on. He doesn’t have the luxury of being relaxed. Being too comfortable in the past contributed to the scar that’s marred the left side of his face. 

Jake’s body doesn’t obey him when he asks it to move though. The plastic of the MRE package creaks as he squeezes it in his fist, but he stays put otherwise.

Piers crumples up his garbage and takes a swig from his canteen. He offers it to Jake, and Jake polishes off the rest of the water before handing it back. Piers cocks an eyebrow at him, but screws the lid back on and then stands, throwing his rifle over his shoulder. "I need to find a place to fill up canteens with more water."

Jake stands, and rolls his shoulders. "I know a place that has clean water; unless you enjoy the runs." He turns and walks away, before turning back to Piers and patting his leg. "Here puppy," he goads, smirking.

Piers is so fast, he barely sees the solider wind up before the canteen ricochets off his nose. The impact makes his eyes water, a fact he successfully hides as he bends to retrieve the offending object. He probably deserves that and more for being a first-rate asshole, but it doesn’t diminish the pain. Jakes straightens and blindly throws the canteen back in Piers' direction, not really caring if he hits Piers or not, and stalks off.

Foot falls sound behind him as Piers follows.

 

Jake’s been in this city a couple of times before and therefore only vaguely knows the location of the few stores in the area that stock imported bottled water. Back before he was worth fifty million dollars, he didn’t really give a damn as it was a luxury he couldn’t afford and take care of his mother at the same time. Edonia’s water isn’t bad, per say, but it tastes foul due to the high mineral content. Occasionally though, the water wasn’t as clean as it should be. 

Problem was, the shops were a little outside the secured zone the BSAA had set up. A couple soldiers try to stop him, but back off when they see Lieutenant Nivans with him. Jake’s fairly certain he hears the rookie, Lynn or Finn mutter something about Piers’ pretty-boy, resting bitchface and something else entitled jackasses. He laughs, watching the other soldier’s eyes bug out and his face turn red, while Piers regards him oddly, clearly not having heard the comment. Jake’s willing to bet money Piers would’ve kicked his subordinate’s ass if he had. 

“All of a sudden I like you a whole lot better!” Jake calls, cackling as the rookie salutes and hightails it as far away from Jake as he can.

“Okay…” Piers says, trailing off as he watches the exchange, his brow furrowed in suspicion. 

“Rookie and I have more in common than I thought,” Jake comments flippantly, removing his pistol from his holster and continuing down the abandoned street. Piers follows suit, close on his heels.

"How much farther?" Piers asks a couple minutes later. They’d spoken the bare minimum to each other, after Piers' water bottle had rocketed off of Jake's face. Jake doesn’t want to admit it, but his nose is still tender; he won’t be surprised if he ends up with a bruise under one or both eyes tomorrow. Not feeling up to speaking, Jake points at the blinking neon purple sign about fifty feet away.

Jake walks up to the door, opens it and steps inside, scanning the room for any signs of J'avo or other fucking weird creatures. He raises his gun and starts around the left side of the room, Piers taking the right. The store's lights are out, like the rest of the city, but the backup generator powering the coolers casts an ambient light.

They check under desks and counter tops, carefully clearing the room. Piers opens the door to the alley and pokes his head out. "Clear," he calls to Jake as he closes the door and walks over to the coolers. He opens a couple bottles of water and refills his canteen. Jake grabs a bottle for himself.

He still can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness that had settled over him though. Jake knows they’re in occupied enemy territory, and that there’s bound to be some tension regardless of the situation. But, he can’t shake the thought that something’s out of place, something’s wrong. Jake’s sorely tempted to brush the feeling off as paranoia, but he hasn’t lived this long by ignoring his instincts.

His eyes scan the room again, checking for anything out of the ordinary, and out through the windows onto the street. Nothing. 

He still has the feeling that this had been a terrible mistake. 

"We need to leave," he whispers to Piers. "Now."

Piers' spine straightens. "What's wrong?" he whispers back, turning the safety off on his assault rifle.

Jake follows Piers’ example with his handgun. "Something’s wrong." He says, moving slowly and as silently as possible back across the store.

“Oh,” Piers’ tone is sarcastic, but he still keeps his voice low. “I was hoping for something a little more, hmm, concrete.”

Jake shoulders the door open and stops to make a face at Piers. “I’ll introduce your face to something a little more concrete next time,” he hisses, moving out into the street, holding his handgun in both hands for better accuracy.

Piers flips him off before raising his rifle. Jake gestures for him to follow and he waits for Piers’ slow nod before jogging back down the street the way they came.

Without warning, big-undead-and-ugly lands in the middle of the street in front of them, the asphalt breaking apart and shooting up into the air like fireworks. Jake skids to a stop, his boots squeaking in protest and catches Piers around the bicep. He uses the momentum Piers already has going and shoves him down the alleyway to the right. 

Piers stumbles over his own feet for a few steps, like a baby deer attempting to run for the first time before he catches his balance and matches Jake’s flat out run. No words are wasted between the two of them as Ugly pounds the pavement behind them, buildings trembling in his wake. 

Piers tackles him through an open back door, and they land in a pile of limbs as Ugly continues on past, but Jake can hear him slowing and turning back around. Piers is on his feet in a couple seconds, Jake jumping to his feet and flying through the house on the sniper’s heels. 

They burst through the front door and fly across the road and through the front door opposite when there’s a boom from down the block and Ugly emerges from another abandoned house, timber and bits of plaster skidding across the road. He roars as Jake disappears through the door, and even though Jake can’t see him anymore, he feels the earth tremble beneath his feet and knows that Ugly’s closing in for the kill.

He’s not going to stand around and wait for the end though. He’s going out guns blazing.

As Jake flies around the corner into a dilapidated kitchen, a hand ducks out and grips his bicep. He’s dragged through an open doorway before he can leave out the back door. He throws out a punch instinctively and connects solidly with someone’s ribs. His captor curses but doesn’t let go, and Jake’s dragged down a flight of stairs. 

“This way, asshole,” Piers hisses from the darkness ahead of him. 

Piers skips the last few steps, dragging Jake with him and they land awkwardly on heavily packed dirt. The impact jars them both, and Piers hauls him up from the grip he still has around Jake’s bicep. He has half a mind to tell the solider to keep his hands to himself, but Piers lets go as they scramble across the floor of the cellar, their movements and breaths echoing too loudly in Jake’s wired state. 

They hit the far wall hard, unable to see anything as Ugly bursts through the house above them, ripping through support beams and walls, the floors creaking under his massive weight and shaking loose dust and plaster to land on them. Jake will never admit to it, but he crowds into Piers’ personal space, pressing up against him and the earthen wall behind them feeling dread settle thickly in his belly.

He feels a little better when he feels Piers leaning right back into him, his breath coming in short pants.

More crashing about overhead before, all at once, it stops. 

In the darkness, the only sounds Jake can hear are their mingled breaths. He closes his eyes to try and concentrate on the floor above them. After a few moments straining to hear anything, Piers shifts and the squeak of his gear sounds like a scream in the darkness. He feels Piers’ hot breath ghost over the shell of his ear and he yanks his head back as heat spreads through his body, suddenly thankful for the darkness because he’s sure the flush has spread over his face and neck. Damn redhead coloring. He slaps a hand over what he presumes is Piers’ mouth, to prevent whatever the solider is about to say from broaching the silence. 

He assumes Piers is glaring at him by the way the skin under his fingertips tighten, dragging slight stubble across the pads of his fingers. Jake glares back into the darkness, ignoring his rational side that informs him how childish he’s being. His heart beats out an annoying, irregular rhythm as air from Piers’ inhales and exhales warms his fingers. He stubbornly refuses to move his hand though. 

Above them begins some shuffling and a foot fall shakes more plaster loose above them. Piers abruptly stops breathing and they both remain stock-still. Even though the darkness is impenetrable, and he can barely see his own hand in front of his face, Jake turns his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes strain through the darkness as though, if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll be able to see through the floor to the rooms above to track the movement of his stalker.

Another foot fall shatters the silence as Ugly makes his way back through the house. While Jake’s not religious in any sense of the word, he finds himself praying that the main structure of the house remains intact long enough for them to get the hell outta dodge. 

The floor above them quiets as Ugly makes his way back into the street, but Jake can still hear the B.O.W. through the earth that trembles behind him and Piers. He waits until he thinks Ugly’s far enough way before his attention returns to the man next to him.

Just to realize his hand is still covering most of the sniper’s face.

Jake jerks his hand back as though he’s been scalded.

“I assume that means I’m allowed to speak now,” Piers mutters under his breath, and without really knowing the guy, Jake knows he’s irritated. _“Asshole.”_

Jake forms a fist and punches himself in the thigh, to avoid punching the guy’s pretty face.

“I’m calling for back up,” Piers says lowly, his gear creaking like he’s reaching for his radio. “We need to get out of here now.”

“No!” Jake hisses, shooting out a hand out to land on what he hopes is Piers’ chest. “You call for back up, they’re all going to die. Sherry and I barely escaped that thing before; he’s smart, he’s fast, and he’ll kill anything in his path. He’s hunting me, probably the same reason Sherry’s so keen on delivering me to the United States.”

There’s a beat of silence while Piers must be considering everything Jake has said. “Alright,” he finally agrees, “I’ll get you out of here. I need to check in with my squad before we move though, and they come looking for me.”

“ _You_ and _I_ are going nowhere. _I_ , however, am leaving now.” Jake straightens from his crouch and promptly bashes his head into the floor above them. Biting back a curse and rubbing his head, he shuffles as quietly as he can towards the stairs.

“Fuck that,” Piers says lowly from behind him. “I’m in charge of protecting you and we will leave together.”

“I don’t need your help or your protection. I can take care of myself.”

Piers locks onto him from behind, far more quick and quiet than Jake expects, and hauls Jake bodily off his feet turning them both around. He releases Jake and shoves him off balance back into the cellar.

“Stop trying to be a hero,” Piers barks. 

They both freeze, waiting to for any indication they were heard. Moments later, Piers blessedly lowers his voice and continues. “I have my orders whether or not they offend your delicate sensibilities. So I will radio Captain Redfield and then we will discuss how best to escort you out of Edonia.”

“You’re a dickhead,” Jake snaps, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his pants.

Piers clearly chooses to ignore that comment as his radio comes to life, static humming in the air. “This is Lieutenant Nivans. I need to speak with Captain Redfield.”

It only takes a couple seconds, before Chris’ voice breaks the silence. “Piers!” The captain exclaims, then continues more quietly as though Piers has hustled to turn the volume lower. “Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you reported in?”

“Captain,” Piers says, dropping the pissy tone he’d been using with Jake. Jake rolls his eyes. “Sherry’s protective detail and I ran into some trouble. A giant B.O.W. closed in on us, but we took cover in a cellar.”

Sherry’s voice floods the line, a note of desperation in her voice. “Is Jake alive? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Piers replies flatly. “Charming as ever.”

“Jake?” Sherry asks, ignoring Piers.

The radio hits him in the chest and remains there until Jake takes it from Piers’ grip. “Right here sunshine.” Jake drawls.

“Jake!” Sherry exclaims, and Jake would almost be touched by her relief if he didn’t already know she was more concerned if his heart was still pumping his blood through his veins than any real concern for his well-being. “Thank God.”

“Yeah, well, I managed just fine before the US government decided to poke their nose into my business. Don’t know why it’s all that surprising that I’m alive after an hour of not being in your presence-“

“Listen to me!” Sherry snaps. “The B.O.W. that was tracking us has been spotted in your vicinity. I had Finn look up some particulars on it… and let’s just say, you need to get out of there. Now! Before he realizes you’re there –“

“That’s a really nice warning, but just a little too late.” Jake cuts in. “Tall, Ugly and Bitchy already found us. We managed to lose him, but I’m sure he’s just outside taking a tour of the block.”

There’s silence over the comm, that lasts long enough to make Jake wonder whether Sherry just said ‘fuck it’ and left Piers and him to their own devices. 

“Sherry?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time someone didn’t find him worth the risk.

“Give the comm back to Piers.” It’s Redfield again, and Jake thrusts the radio out into the darkness blindly. He makes contact with some part of Piers, a little forcefully judging by the muffled curse, and then the comm is taken from him. 

“Captain.”

“Piers. We’ve managed to locate your position and we’re sending a chopper over to you for evac. It’ll land to the south of you,” Chris rattles off the coordinates quickly and Piers repeats them aloud as though he’s trying to commit them to memory. “You’re to escort Jake to Finland, out of the war zone, where we will rendezvous with you at the base there.”

“That’s a shitty idea, considering _Ugly is right outside_.” Jake says, reaching out to grab the radio away from Piers. “He’s a lot of things, but deaf isn’t one of them.”

Piers manages to fend him off though, Jake reeling back and away when an elbow catches him in the eye. “Yes, sir. Though wouldn’t it make sense to just fly us back to you? I think we’re only a kilometer or so out.” Piers responds, as close to questioning the Captain as he’s likely to get.

“You have orders, _soldier_.” Chris snaps.

Jake’s eyebrows fly up as Sherry cuts in. “I’m so sorry, Piers,” she says regretfully. “I underestimated the lengths that Neo-Umbrella would go to in order to retrieve Jake.”

Jake wishes he had the comm to tell her off, for not being fully equipped to handle the situation.

“We don’t have time to discuss that now,” Piers says, and Jake feels a little bit of grudging respect for the guy for not immediately hopping to attention to reassure Sherry. “I’ll radio in when we get on the heli, Captain.”

“See that you do.”

Then the line goes dead as Piers turns off the radio.

“Let’s get moving, asshole.” Piers says before Jake can remark on the fine Captain’s attitude change.

“I have a name you know,” Jake replies hotly, not sure why he’s bothering. “It’s Jake.”

“Asshole suits you better.”

Jake settles for a rude gesture even though Piers can’t see, and follows as the sharpshooter ascends the stairs. The staircase remains sturdy under their combined weigh, surprisingly, but as they emerge out of the dark, the main floor is another matter entirely.

Jake has no idea how the second floor is remaining suspended above the first. The main support beams are all but non-existent and certain areas of the ceiling are bowed down. It would seem like the only thing keeping it from crushing Jake and Piers into pancakes is the prayer Jake sent up earlier. They rush out the back door into a, thankfully abandoned alley, as the house creaks alarmingly behind them.

Piers raises his gun and settles the butt into the crook of his shoulder, and does a quick sweep of the alley to make sure everything is all clear. The roar of the helicopter can be heard in the distance, and even though it sounds far off, Jake knows if they don’t hustle to get to the rendezvous they’re going to miss their ride. Jake frowns and glances behind checking the house for one last time, and when he swings his gaze back around his eyes lock with Piers’.

Jake knows without looking in a mirror that the expression on his face does nothing to enhance his appearance, just serves to make him look more threatening and aggressive. On the other hand, even with his brows knitted, tension evident in the tightness of his shoulders and plaster turning his dark hair gray, Piers is still strikingly good-looking. 

It annoys him how attractive he finds the dickhead.

He rubs a hand over his head, hoping to get rid of the dust on himself, even though being presentable should be the least of his worries.

Jake turns on his heel and marches in the direction Chris rattled off on the radio, soft footfalls behind him signaling that Piers is with him.

He doesn’t look though. Not when his head is determined to fuck with him and dwell on how Piers’ shoulders fill out his uniform, or how soft his mouth looks. He shouldn’t be focusing on any of those things. Instead, he should be focused on staying alive and _finding the fucking chopper._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is about two months later than I expected to post. School's been kicking my ass, and this chapter fought me tooth and nail. It was really intent on being garbage. Thanks to my lovely beta, you all don't have to read that first draft. So sorry for the delay in posting!

Jake takes point for a couple blocks before he curls his lip in frustration and slows to allow Piers to catch up. Piers falls into step beside him, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder. “What?”

“I really wasn’t listening when Captain Jarhead was relaying the directions for this half-assed plan,” Jake admits sullenly, reloading his gun and pointedly not looking at Piers. “Mostly, because I didn’t think we’d make the block.”

“You really are a ray of sunshine aren’t you?” Piers asks. “I just don’t understand why everyone doesn’t like you.”

“I’m an acquired taste,” Jake spits, slamming his magazine back into his pistol. He can feel his ears grow hot under Piers’ gaze, which just serves to piss him off. “Sure, most people don’t like me, whatever. I’m a fucking delight to the people who manage to stick around.”

“Okay,” Piers says, an odd lilt to his voice. It takes all of Jake’s pride not to analyze the change in tone, and the lack of fight Piers puts up. “Do people usually stick around?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Jake snarls, turning his head to meet Piers’ gaze with a steely glare. “How about you do your fucking job and get us the fuck out of here.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Piers says, raising his eyebrows in challenge, hard edge back in his tone. But, to Jake’s disappointment, he doesn’t take the bait. He picks up the pace again, gravel crunching under his heavy boots. Jake looks around in alarm hoping Ugly has well and truly move on, and almost misses the “follow me” that Piers throws out over his shoulder.

They manage to reach the rendezvous just as the helicopter does, which turns out to be a stroke of luck, since the pilot doesn’t even bother landing. One of the crew tosses out a rope and Piers grabs it, using his arms to pull himself up, the line wrapped around one leg for leverage. Jake follows suit as soon as there’s room; as soon as he’s got a good grip and his feet have left the ground, the pilot doesn’t waste anytime waiting for them to get in the cockpit. Jake’s stomach plummets as he watches the earth fall away, alarm causing him to stop momentarily and clutch the rope.

Heights have never been Jake’s thing and it takes all of his willpower to force his fingers to unclench, and release the line and to continue the climb hand over hand. Piers reaches the top and Jake watches as he swings himself in before turning to offer a hand to Jake.

“This is nice,” Jake yells, trying to distract himself. He’s doesn’t know if he’s heard over the deafening sound of the helicopter. “I’ve always wanted to board a helicopter in the most dangerous way possible. Should’ve known the BSAA would be jumpy sons of bitches.” 

“Because you were the picture of calm ten minutes ago?” Piers shouts back, his hand gripping Jake’s and hefting him in with surprising strength. Piers releases him as soon as Jake’s got his footing, and leaves Jake to his own devices while he strides ahead to speak with whoever is in the cockpit.

Jake takes a look around, peering out the window at the ground that seems to be disturbingly far away, listening to the wind wailing across the opening at the back of the heliport.  
“Hey!” Jake shouts at the BSAA soldier who’s standing next to the hatch. “Are you planning on closing that anytime soon?”

The soldier eloquently flips Jake the finger. “Don’t remember me? I was at the checkpoint you and Lieutenant Nivans blew through. Assholes like you think the rules apply to everyone else. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be wasting the BSAA’s time and funds to try and get you out of Edonia.”

Jake cocks his head to the side and smirks. “I’m not in the habit of giving a shit, sorry.” He’s just about to tell the douchbag _exactly_ where he can put that finger, when his shoulder is grabbed and he’s wrenched around to face Piers.

“Is this a close up demonstration of how you make friends?” Piers asks shortly, and all but man handles Jake into one of the seats. “Shut up and sit down before you hurt yourself.”

“Stop grabbing me,” Jake snarls and pushes Piers away. He needs Piers to stop touching him already. It’s hard enough being in close quarters with him, he doesn’t need to feel the warmth of his palms against his sensitive skin. “I’m not a child.”

Piers drops into a chair opposite. “I’m not even going to waste my time pointing out exactly how much of a child you are.”

“I’m not the one who throws around metal canteens when he hears something he doesn’t like,” Jake says snidely, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles. 

His words have the desired effect as Piers stands abruptly, and Jake readies himself for a fight. What he’s not prepared for, is the heliport to veer sharply to the side and for his hands, thrown up to protect himself, to be suddenly full of Piers. The force of their bodies colliding knocks the breath from Jake’s lungs for a moment, because Piers is _heavy_ , a lot heavier than he looks. Jake barely has time to recover before the both of them are wrenched out of Jake’s seat and sprawled across the floor. 

Douchebag is shouting and shooting out the back door of the hatch, which makes no sense from where Jake is dazedly pushing himself up and off of Piers. They’re both trying desperately to regain their footing, but the heliport is still veering sickeningly from side to side, and Jake’s just about to yell to the pilot to get his head out of his ass, until the side door is ripped open _from the outside_ and Ugly sticks his head in through the gap.

“Babe, I’m flattered but trust me, I’m _not_ interested.” Jake shouts, rolling out of the way as Ugly makes a grab for him. “The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ doesn’t apply here, because it’s definitely you.”

“Jake!” Piers yells, but there’s a smile on his lips, even as he looks furious with himself for finding Jake amusing. Jake finds himself smiling at the sight, though he tries to smother it as best he can. Piers starts, like he’s surprised Jake’ face can contort into a smile, but it’s only for an instant, because Douchebag has run up behind Jake. 

“Where did that bastard go?” Douchebag asks Jake heatedly, as though Jake personally invited Ugly along on the trip.

“I don’t know,” Jake snaps, eyebrows furrowing. “Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass and try using it to look around?”

The side panel behind Douchebag is ripped from the heli and whatever Douchebag is about to say is forever lost, as the suction drags him out. Jake grabs ahold of one of the ‘oh shit’ handles, staring open mouthed at where the guy was just standing for a couple moments before he snaps back into action and pulls a similarly affected Piers towards the cockpit. “We need to put this thing down now!” He shouts at the pilot. The pilot gives him the thumbs up and then there’s a screech of metal from above them. 

Piers hops into the vacant seat beside the pilot. “What was that?” he asks, trying to pitch his voice louder than the alarms blaring from the control panel. “Is there anywhere we can land?”

Jake feels abruptly sick as he sees the rotor fly past the window to his right and plummet towards the earth. There’s a shift as the helicopter begins to drop out of the sky, following the trajectory of the rotor. “Um,” Jake says getting Piers’ attention. He has to swallow thickly as the warm brown eyes settle on his face. “ _That_ was the prop. Can we land without it?” 

Jake doesn’t get a response, but the horror settling over Piers’ features is answer enough. Crashing it is.

“Oh, fuck.” Jake says, nearly drowned out by the sound of crunching metal as Ugly moves around above them.

“Go grab yourselves some parachutes,” the pilot says, and motioning to the wall behind him. “You’re going to need to jump. I’ll keep this B.O.W. distracted.”

“I think he might notice two guys bailing out of here,” Jake says, grabbing a parachute and pulling it on. For all his pessimism, Jake knows his chances are better out there than being in here when the heliport crashes. He grabs the next one and throws it at Piers. 

“If you guys don’t go now, I think you’ll have parts of this bird chasing you to the ground,” the pilot says, his right hand clenched around the cyclic, pulling it erratically even though it’s not attached to the rotor anymore. 

“What about you?” Piers asks, standing up again and strapping the chute on. 

The pilot barely spares them a backward glance. “Don’t worry about me, Nivans. You’ve a job to do. Don’t want that fucker up there to see us all abandoning ship together.”

“Come on,” Jake says, grabbing Piers’ forearm, trying to tow him to away. “We’ve got to go now.”

Piers grimaces but nods, clapping the pilot on the shoulder before following Jake. A panel above them is wrenched open to reveal clear blue sky with streaks of red and orange where the sun is beginning to set. 

The picturesque moment is ruined by Ugly sticking his head in and the fact that they’re moving into a slow barrel roll.

Jake releases Piers as they run through the heli and jump out through the hole that Douchebag had gone sailing through not minutes before. Although, Jake doesn’t really think he should call him Douchebag anymore; Jake may be an asshole but he has respect for the dead, especially for someone who sacrificed their life for his. Something in his chest aches and he shoves the dangerous thoughts away, pushing Piers out of the plane ahead of himself. Sucking in a deep breath, Jake jumps. 

He’s simultaneously weightless and substantial at the same time; he feels suspended in the air, but can see the ground rushing forward to greet him and the air screaming through his ears wakes him up enough to try and figure out his parachute. Something he should’ve received pointers on before jumping from an aircraft, but self-preservation and thinking ahead have never been his strong suits. There’s boom above him, loud enough that the sound reverberates through his chest and Jake looks up in time to see the helicopter explode. He hopes Ugly’s ass is torched once and for all.

Canvas material whips past him, almost entangling Jake in it. It wraps around a heavy piece of debris and with a jolt, he realizes that it’s Piers’ parachute. 

“Oh, fuck _me_ ,” Jake breathes, watching Piers free fall without anything to save him. Piers stares up at him with an expression of shock, and he turns around to look at the ground as though to confirm that he is still falling, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Jake angles his body into a dive, trying to make himself as aerodynamic as possible, which seems to work because he’s gaining on Piers, who seems to have caught on and has spread out his limbs trying to make himself a bigger target and slow himself down at the same time.

It’s the longest five seconds of Jake’s life, him barely gaining on Piers and the both of them hurtling through the sky with debris raining down around them. His fingers snag Piers’ ankle, and he uses that connection to haul himself closer and climb up Piers’ body. He gets a good grip on the other man, one arm around the waist and another around his shoulders, Piers mirroring the hold on him. When they’re chest to chest and Jake looks out over Piers’ shoulder.

“Release the chute!” he yells in Piers’ ear, the ground too close for comfort at the speed they’re going. 

Piers does, and they’re suddenly yanked vertical, Jake glad for the grip he has on Piers, because his muscles strain to hold on. 

“You saved my life!” Piers yells, and Jake holds him tighter, because he’s not going to have Piers slip through his fingers and die now.

“Not out of this yet!” Jake yells back, as a flaming piece of metal rips through the parachute. It’s as though the universe has decided to punish him for his negativity, sending them falling at an escaladed pace. Jake might not know how to calculate mass and velocity, but they’re moving fast enough that, as the ground rises up to meet them, Jake knows that the impact is going to hurt.

 

Jake wakes slowly, eyes blinking rapidly to try and clear his blurry vision. His chest is constricted and he starts to panic when he can’t draw enough air into his lungs. The weight on his chest moves slightly and that’s when Jake realizes it’s not a psychosomatic problem, that there’s something literally on top of him. He reaches up and shoves debris off of him, rolling out from under it at the same time. He scuttles backwards on his hands like a crab, and draws a deep lungful of frigid air that burns on the way in. 

Jake’s chest still feels bruised and breathing hurts, but not in the restricted way it was when he was prone. He presses a hand gingerly over his sternum and winces slightly from the pain that twinges from the touch, but it’s not the worse that he’s had to endure. He spares a glance for what was attempting to crush him.

Only to realize it’s someone, and his brain comes back online and informs him that it’s _Piers_ he’s shoved gracelessly off himself.

He half lands in a snowbank in his rush to make it back over to the soldier. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” he chants under his breath like a prayer as he rolls Piers over. Piers is disturbingly pale, lips blue and Jake wonders just how long they’ve been out. His fingers tremble from the cold as they move the scarf away from Piers’ neck to press against the soldier’s pulse. Jake releases a shaky breath when he feels Piers’ heart pumping, even if it’s more sluggish than he’d prefer.

“Okay, okay,” he whispers to himself, squinting through the falling snow and begging his brain to work faster. He can barely think straight and his teeth chattering is oddly distracting. “I – we – need to get out of the cold.” Jake pulls his jacket tighter around himself, before re-adjusting Piers’ scarf to cover his head and mouth. When he’s done, Piers resembles a little old lady. Jake doesn’t have it in himself to laugh. 

He does a quick once over of the soldier and doesn’t find any wounds that he can see, and he prays that there isn’t any internal damage. They can’t stay in the snow, Jake kneeling over Piers like some sort of monk. He brushes the snow off himself as best as he can before he pulls Piers up and into a fireman’s carry, Piers’ torso draped across Jake’s shoulders, one arm and one leg securely in Jake’s hold.

He takes a step and nearly crumples, pain whiting out his vision and he gasps but manages to remain upright. He takes a deep breath and even that hurts. He picks a direction at random and with a small flicker of hope, sets off. 

 

The first thing Jake registers is that he’s warm. Not completely comfortable, but not as cold as he remembers being. He hears the crackling of a fire somewhere close by, and it slowly dawns on him that he can’t feel the wind tearing into him anymore, chilling him to the bone. 

Jake doesn’t wait for anyone to come by and explain the situation to him. He’s been down that route before and it almost always leads to pain. Instead, he acts, launching himself up and zeroing in on the other person nearby, sliding in behind them even as they squawk and send an elbow into his side. He locks his arm firmly around their throat.

He feels his captive swallow, and try to pry his arm away.

“I’m giving this thirty seconds to make sense, or I am… kicking ass,” Jake finishes weakly, the short brown hair tickling his nose and uniform a dead giveaway to the fact that it’s Piers who he’s got in a chokehold. He loosens his grip and Piers ducks out of his hold, scooting away and putting distance between them. 

“Oh good,” Piers wheezes, sending Jake a glare. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Jake says lamely, feeling more confused than before. “How did we get here?” He asks sending a glance around their surroundings. They clearly made it to the cabin that he had seen in the distance when he was walking, but he has no memories after that. It’s barely a structure anymore, and it looks like it’s been abandoned for years. Wind and snow creep in through holes and cracks in the walls and Jake shivers as a particularly strong gust threatens to break through the rotted planks.

“I don’t remember anything after falling. You got us within walking distance of this place though, judging by the tracks you made in the snow. I got us here and started the fire just as Mother Nature unleashed her fury.” Piers says, as he settles closer to the fire in the fireplace.

He glances back and rolls his eyes when he sees that Jake hasn’t moved. He reaches out and closes a nimble hand around Jake’s wrist, fingers grazing his pulse point, and tugs Jake close. Jake nearly stumbles over himself in the process, sitting down next to Piers, a respectful distance between the two of them.

Piers huffs and slides closer, pressing them flush from knee to shoulder. “I’m still fucking cold.” He says by way of apology.

Jake lets out a shaky breath and shivers, glad to have the weather to blame it on. “Yeah,” he says, abandoning sense and leaning into Piers. “Me too.”

“I made a couple Molotov cocktails,” Piers says, breaking the silence and shifting against Jake to point across the room where various sizes of bottles are sitting against the wall. It’s then that Jake realizes that Piers’ scarf is the wick. Jake’s gaze is dragged back to Piers as the other man reaches up to rub his neck as though he’s self-conscious about the lack of material.

Jake checks his holster, and finds it empty. Same for any of the other guns he was carrying. “Fuck,” he swears, clenching his hands into fists, the only weapon he has left.

“I’ve got a small knife, and lots of ammo,” Piers says, patting his chest. “But no weapons. So, figured I should make do with what we’ve got.”

“Good idea,” Jake says, before falling silent. The silence stretches between them, but it’s not comfortable; it’s more of a pregnant pause and Jake doesn’t know how to fill it. He’s never been good at small talk. Anyone on a job wasn’t a friend, and Jake didn’t give two shits about anyone other than himself. Just to get the job done and onto the next. No point in trying to get to know anyone if they were just going to die anyway, or he was going to die. It was a fruitless, depressing exercise.

Past experience dictated that Piers was going to die and probably soon. No reason to bother filling up any awkward silences; the less he knows about the solider, the better.

“Are you – um – invested in the civil uprising?” Piers asks, haltingly. “You know, the whole, ‘fuck the government’ coup d’etat?” 

Silence reigns between them for a few moments before Jake snorts. “Of all the topics to choose, you want to make small talk about a civil war?”

“We’re both in the middle of it,” Piers says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Jake’s momentarily distracted by the way Piers’ biceps flex, but he manages to tune in to the last part of what Piers is saying. “-don’t know anything else about you.”

“You know enough that you shouldn’t have to ask,” Jake says, gesturing to himself. “You’ve met me. Do I seem like a guy that does well with authority?” 

“Not especially,” Piers concedes, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t answer my question though.”

“No.” Jake eventually says, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. The fire has died down some, and the cold is starting to seep into the cabin. 

“What?”

“No,” Jake repeats. “I don’t give two shits about the civil uprising.”

“Okay,” Piers says after a moment. An expectant silence stretches between them. Jake doesn’t know what sort of information Piers is fishing for, so he stays silent. He might be working for the US right now, but in a couple weeks he’ll be right back here, and he’s not just going to spill intel when it will definitely get him executed upon his return.

“Why are you so hard to talk to? I just asked you some questions and you could’ve just answered them.” Piers says, leaning forward and looking up at Jake, and trying to catch his attention. What Piers doesn’t know is that he already has his attention. That Jake can’t help but be completely and utter _aware_ of him. “I’m just trying to get to know you. The real you, not this asshole persona you project. I’m not trying to commit an unspeakable crime.”

“Don’t bother,” Jake mutters, scooting away from Piers and angling himself away. He stares resolutely at the wall and pointedly avoids eye contact. “Soon you’ll hand me over to the US government or whatever. I’ll do my blood donor thing and we’ll never see each other again.” 

A warm weight settles on his shoulder and Jake starts in surprise, his head jerking up to meet Piers’ gaze. The soldier’s eyes glitter in the low light of the cabin, his brows angled down into a frown. Jake can’t find it in himself to look away, the flickering of the fire highlighting the warm reds and browns in Piers’ hair. The light throws bright tracts of tan and gold across one side of his face, casting the other side into a blue shadow. Piers is a tall glass of water in the desert and fuck if Jake isn’t parched. As much as he keeps hoping, the attraction isn’t going away. 

Piers grips his shoulder comfortingly, unexpectedly strong fingers pressing into the flesh of his shoulder. His thumb rests on Jake’s collarbone, perilously close to his stuttering pulse. “You don’t have to push everyone you run into away,” he says, squeezing Jake’s shoulder briefly. 

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew me,” Jake says rigidly, ignoring the urge to lean into the touch and trying to keep his breathing under control. 

“Why don’t you give me the chance to get to know you?” Piers asks, sounding for the life of him like he actually _wants_ to get to know Jake. “Maybe I don’t like what I learn about you. Maybe you don’t like what you learn about _me_. Maybe we never talk again after this. If nothing else, it’ll pass the time. This storm isn’t giving up anytime soon.”

As if on cue, the wind picks up, howling against the walls of the tiny shack.

“Fine,” Jake agrees, against his better judgement. “I think you’re going to be disappointed. There’s not much to tell.”

“If you’re hoping to discourage me, it’s not working. Now come on, it’s fucking freezing,” Piers says, using his hold on Jake’s shoulder to bring him back in close to Piers and the fire. “Even if we loathe each other by the time we get out of here, at least I won’t be bored out of my tree.”

“I don’t loathe you,” Jake’s mouth says without consulting his good sense. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything further.

“Yeah?” Piers says, the hand on Jake’s shoulder falling away. The cold rushes in on the warmed skin, making Jake long that much more for the contact. Piers stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on his palms, looking at Jake with a raised eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jake takes a deep breath, and straightens his legs out in front of himself, propping one knee up. “I don’t make the best first impressions. I don’t hate you,” he repeats for emphasis. “I’m a mercenary. There’s a good chance the guy I ate breakfast will be dead by mid-day.” 

“Jesus,” Piers says, wiping a hand over his face. “I’ve lost soldiers, _friends_ too, man. That doesn’t mean to have to relinquish all human contact.”

“Just, you know, keeping business impersonal helps.” Jake says defensively, hating the fact that he feels compelled to justify his coping methods to a near perfect stranger. A stranger with flawless features and an extremely distracting full mouth, but a stranger none the less. “Case in point. All the guys that were with me yesterday are all dead, turned into those weird Java things.”

“J’avo.” Piers corrects.

“Well, you’d know,” Jake says, giving Piers an unimpressed look. Of course, he’s be the type to correct people on their pronunciation. “I’ve just - I’ve never had the personality that meshed with anyone. Combine that with what I do – did. After a while, the idea of having friends just doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, wishing for the first time that he was better at expressing himself. “I didn’t – don’t know what I’m missing, so it’s not really something I lose sleep over.”

“Okay, I guess I can see where you’re coming from. But,” Piers persists, Jake’s not sure why, “You must have parents. Are you close to them?”

Jake lets the silence speak for itself. He’s even ready to think about his mother, let alone bring her up in casual conversation. Doesn’t know if that’s something he’ll ever be ready to discuss. And his dad isn’t worth him spending precious time thinking about. “I don’t need anyone else,” he says eventually, lowering himself to lay back and stare at the ceiling. He rests both hands behind his head. “I’m self-sufficient.”

“Wow,” Piers says. “Just. Wow.”

“What?” Jake says sharply, temper flaring. As he raises himself up on one elbow facing Piers, insult on the tip of his tongue, Piers thrusts his hand out between them, palm up. Confusion drowns out the anger, and he finds himself just staring at Piers’ outstretched hand. 

“I guess, if you wanted,” Piers says, looking surprisingly uncertain. Jake watches with interest as Piers drags his free hand through his short hair. “I could be a friend to you.”

“You’re shitting me.” Jake says incredulously, raising his eyebrows. 

“I’m really not,” Piers says, a glint in his eye and Jake realizes that the ace is actually serious. Even with what he already knows about Jake, all of which suggests Jake would be nothing but a shitty friend. Sure, Jake has some redeeming qualities, however he’s displayed none of these; and here Piers is still here offering something Jake thought he’d never have. 

“What’s in it for you?” Jake asks suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

“Oh my god,” Piers snaps, withdrawing his hand. He scrubs both palms over his face, and takes two fistfuls of hair. Jake feels his insides turn to ice. He’s already fucked up… whatever this was between them. “That’s not how friendship works, Jake! There’s nothing in it for me, other than more awkward and painful conversations regarding social cues!”

“Okay,” Jake says slowly, drawing the word out and pushing himself back into a sitting position. He crosses his legs at the ankle and leans back on his hands. “And you would want that why?”

Piers releases the tight grip his has on his hair, leaving his hair standing up in random tufts. Jake leans back further on his hands, muscles in his forearm pulling uncomfortably, to resist the urge to brush Piers’ hair back into some semblance of order. They’re so much closer now that he’s not prone, it would take no effort to reach out and run his fingers through the soft brown strands. “The why doesn’t matter,” Piers says eventually, wrinkling nose before meeting Jake’s eyes. Jake feels a flush climb up his neck at having been caught looking. Piers slides his hand between the two of them, and Jake drops his gaze to the strong palm and nimble fingers. Even his hands are fucking attractive. “Only that, despite everything, I do.”

There’s something Piers isn’t saying, but Jake can’t put his finger on what it could possibly be. He seems sincere though, so for the first time in a long time, Jake decides to trust someone other than himself.

“Okay,” Jake says warily reaching out slowly to clasp his hand in Piers’, hesitating halfway. “Should I spit in my palm?”

“Please don’t,” Piers says, wrinkling his nose. “Is there any particular reason you want to?”

Jake shrugs. “Seems like something Americans do in films.”

“What movies have you been watching? Actually don’t answer that,” Piers shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want to know.”

Jake scoffs and rolls his eyes, but still clasps Piers’ hand in his own, relishing in the warmth radiating from the other man’s palm. Piers gives him a small smile and Jake, despite this being the weirdest situation he’s ever been in, smiles back. 

Piers gives his hand a brief shake, before releasing him. As Jake withdraws his hand, he slouches further against the wall, lolling his head back on his shoulders, suddenly tired. “You know,” he says to the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. “You know a lot about me, and all I know about you is that you’re from North America –“

“I’m originally from Nebraska.”

“See? I’m taking a huge chance on you Piers,” Jake says, before yawning widely. “That’s probably the best thing about you; everything else is all downhill from here. You’re probably a bigger asshole than I am.”

Piers snorts beside him, and Jake feels another smile ghost over his face. “Your fault for not fact checking before,” he mock-chides, his elbow connecting gently with Jake’s arm. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for next time,” Jake says dryly, ignoring the way that his heart rate spikes at the physical contact. He licks his chapped lips, and smirks. “I’ll hire a private investigator to do all the background checks.”

“From what I heard, you’ll have the cash to do it with,” Piers says, smirking back at him. Jake doesn’t miss the fact that he sidestepped an opportunity to note the complete lack of applicants. “Forget the private investigator, you’ll be able just to buy friends.”

“Unfortunately for you, that won’t extend to previous friends,” Jake says, scooting back until he reaches the wall. Piers slowly pivots to keep Jake in his line of sight, and Jake makes a big show of sighing as he rests his back against the solid surface. “If only you held out a little longer.” 

Piers rolls his eyes, but the smile hasn’t left his lips and Jake feels an alarming amount of satisfaction to be the one making him smile. Jake’s eyes widen and he releases his breath in a slow exhale as Piers closes the distance between them and takes up his place at Jake’s side, relaxing back against the wood wall himself. 

Silence falls between them, and Jake rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. If Jake was anyone else, he’d wonder – wonder whether the lack of separation between them has anything to do with… Whether Piers feels something too. 

But, he knows exactly who he is, who Piers is, and that nothing is ever going to happen. The sooner he squashes any hope of that, the better.

“What will you do?” Piers asks, his voice low and soft, as though he’s afraid of disturbing the odd peace that’s descended between them. Piers shifts as Jake waits for clarification. “You have any opportunity, anything and everything will be at your fingertips. You wouldn’t have to be a merc anymore.”

“This is the first time I’ve had a chance to stop and think about it. Ugly’s been on my ass ever since Sherry found me. I don’t know if you noticed, but that thing is a real attention whore.”  
“I noticed,” Piers says dryly.

“I don’t know, probably come back here and continue to do what I do best,” Jake says, and even though he hasn’t really thought it through, not all the logistics, he knows he’ll eventually end up back here. Maybe more cash in his pockets, but back in Edonia. 

Piers wrinkles his nose as though he’s smelled something foul. “I know this might come as a shock to you, what with your amazing idea to revert right back to a mercenary for hire and all, but that’s a super shitty plan. When we get out of here, I will educate you in all the very varied ways that your idea is shit. You’re want to come back here? I’m going to make it very tough to do with all the opportunities coming your way.”

“I do enjoy a challenge,” Jake says, smirking slightly. “Got something up your sleeve there, _lieutenant?_ ”

“I might,” Piers says haughtily, smirking back at Jake. “Guess, you’ll just have to wait and see. Maybe you’ll even join the BSAA.”

“That’ll be a frosty day in hell,” Jake says with a snort. 

“I’ll be sure to wear appropriate clothing for the weather when you join.” Piers says, his smirk breaking into a grin. “We need professional soldiers and ones who aren’t going to run away from what we face out here. Hell, I made Finn cry yesterday.”

“You are pretty terrifying,” Jake drawls slyly, smirking. “For a puppy.”

“I’ll make you cry,” Piers threatens, glaring up at Jake from his slouched position. “If you keep calling me a puppy. But I didn’t do anything to him; I gave him an order and then he was,” Piers trails off, and makes a couple aborted gestures with his hands. “Tearing up.”

“What was the order?” Jake asks, genuinely curious.

“Well,” Piers starts, and then a sheepish look crosses his face. “He was already emotional at the time, we’d just lost a member of Alpha… so I told him to suck it up. We didn’t have time to coddle him, we had to get moving to the next set of coordinates!” Piers finishes the last part of the sentence in a yell, to be heard over Jake’s raspy laughter.

“Damn,” Jake says, snorting. “I thought I was a cold asshole. You’re downright frosty.”

“We couldn’t just stand there in a group hug – “ Jake’s laughter escalates, and Piers huffs. “ –Oh, fuck you.” He says, but there’s heat lacking in his tone. “I had my reasons.”

“I’m sure,” Jake says, taking a deep breath and trying to force the grin off his face to no avail. They lapse into a comfortable silence. Even though their surroundings are filthy and Jake’s not sure if the permanent chill with ever leave his bones, he feels strangely content.

“Seems like the wind’s died down,” Piers says after a few minutes have passed. Jake stands to grab some more wood to throw on the fire. Piers stands as well, stretching sore muscles and begins to slowly pace the length of the cabin. 

Jake cranes his head to the side, listening. “Seems like it,” he says, stoking the fire back to life. “Wait a couple minutes, it’ll be up again.” Satisfied with the fire, and Jake reaches his arms over his head, hearing a satisfying pop. He sits on the edge of the lone table in the room, not trusting the ancient furniture with his full weight. 

“Maybe I should –“ Piers trails off and stares at the door.

“Not unless you want to get caught in a blizzard without any sense of direction,” Jake says, pulling his coat tighter around himself. The chill has permeated the room while they neglected the fire. 

“Farmers get lost in blizzards on their way from the house to the barn out here. Let alone on an unknown mountain.” 

Piers curls his hand into a fist, and bumps it against his leg, a frown settling over his features. Jake casts about for an idea to bring a smile back to Piers’ face. “You can punch me if you want,” Jake says, flipping the lighter open and closed rhythmically. “It doesn’t change the fact that feeling cabin fever is better than dead.”

“I don’t want to punch you,” Piers says eventually, before snapping out a hand and closing it over Jake’s hand, stopping the movement of the lighter. Jake starts slightly and promptly hates himself for it. “However, I need this noise to stop.”

“Okay,” Jake says. He stares into Piers’ liquid brown eyes, gripping his thigh with his free hand, digging in his fingertips in an attempt to ground himself. “I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” Piers repeats, but he doesn’t move his hand away. Even though they’re both wearing gloves, Jake can feel the heat of Piers’ hand seeping through the layers. He watches Piers’ gaze drift down to his mouth, and he licks his chapped lips instinctively.

“Hey, listen,” Piers says, wrenching his eyes back up to meet Jake’s. “I’m not – um…” He breaks off to run a hand through his hair, gripping the strands briefly before letting go and presses his lips together tightly.

In the moment of silence that passes Jake hears the far off whine of a snowmobile, and his hopes rise briefly. Then he hears the shouting. 

He reacts, jumping off the table and tackling Piers to the floor. His knees connect painfully with on the woods as he brackets Piers’ hips. His forward momentum is slowed so they don’t crack skulls by the sniper’s hands, which shoot out and land Jake’s chest. He feels each digit pressing in even through the heavy material of his coat, and a dark part of him hopes that Piers’ fingers leave bruises that he can admire later.

He frowns, staring down into Piers’ wide eyes, watching as a blush creeps up his exposed neck and over his face. He doesn’t know what Piers is embarrassed about, but there’s no time to ask. Jake’s preparing to roll off and snag one of the Molotov cocktails to surprise those freaky bastards, when he feels it.

Jake’s mouth falls open, and all thoughts fly out of his head. Piers looks like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him.

“It’s just a physical reaction! It doesn’t mean anything!” Piers exclaims, one of the hands on Jake’s chest coming up to cover his face. “Get off me! Oh my god, I want to die.”

“What?” Jake asks stupidly.

A burst of gunfire rips through the flimsy wood door and windows shatter. Jake drops down, pressing his chest firmly to Piers’ as he tries to make himself less of a target and protect Piers in the process. It’s only for a couple seconds, but the break in eye contact provides Jake enough time to pull his scattered thoughts together. Even if the way that Piers is breathing in his ear is really distracting.

He pushes himself back upright after the spray of bullets, and squeezes Piers’ bicep before springing to his feet. “Seems like J’avo have come to grant your death wish.”

“Yeah, they’re regular fairy godmothers,” Piers says, pushing himself to his feet. His face is so red, Jake idly wonders how there’s enough blood left for the problem area.

“Listen,” Jake says shortly, taking cover while trying to get an estimate of how many J’avo are outside. An overeager one sends a spray of bullets towards Jake that he manages to dodge. “We need to get out of here; we’re out gunned and out manned. But just because we have a bunch of party crashers doesn’t mean we won’t be talking about _that_ later.” 

“No, we fucking won’t,” Piers says vehemently, coming up on the other side of the window and he grabs a couple cocktails, handing one to Jake. He lobs one outside, smiling slightly as it hits one, judging by the shrieking. “Nothing to discuss.”

Jake’s saved from having to say anything as the back wall is blown up. Piers rushes forward to dispatch the J’avo with the explosives, Jake following close on his heels. He grabs the nearest undead and spins them around before they even know what’s happening and snaps their neck. The J’avo falls to the ground, disintegrating as they go. Jake wrinkles his nose and cracks his knuckles, before the ground shakes under his feet. 

“What was that?” Piers shouts, dodging a knife and nearly falling on his face in the process. 

Jake turns to face the cabin and he’s moving before he can even process what he’s seeing. He wrenches Piers up by one arm, and takes off running away from their temporary lodging. He can see Piers keeping up with him in his periphery, the two of them flying past J’avo they haven’t yet dealt with. 

“Skidoo!” Piers shouts, stopping and reaching out an arm to pull Jake to a stop as well. He tugs Jake in the direction until Jake gets his feet under him and they’re running full-tilt towards the idling machines. Piers grabs the closest and quickly hops on, gunning the engine and taking off. 

Jake reaches his just as he hears a gunshot and abruptly finds himself sprawled in the snow, his left leg no longer able to support his weight. “Fuck you,” Jake spits, using the skidoo to clamber back on his feet, his calf screaming fire at him. “I’m not dying on this mountain.” He throws his good leg over the side of the skidoo, his bad leg buckling at the last moment, causing him to sit down abruptly.  
He reaches down and wrenches his left leg onto the machine, and guns the engine as screams sound from behind him and then are abruptly cut off.

He races down the mountain, dodging trees narrowly, his heart beating in his ears and feeling the vibration of the ground beneath him. He urges the skidoo faster, until he’s weaving among obstacles with just inches to spare. He pulls up to Piers just as they narrowly avoid being buried alive with a well-timed turn into a tunnel between mountains.

“I thought I lost you!” Piers shouts, grinning maniacally, eyes bright.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily!” Jake shouts back, grimacing as his bad leg is jarred.

Piers shoots him a brief look of concern before his attention is snapped back to the problem in front of them. They emerge from the reprieve into what looks like the mountain itself splitting apart, parts rocking up towards the sky and parts disappearing back into the earth itself. 

Against Jake’s better judgement, he follows on Piers’ tail through the chaos; his left leg feels wet and the pain keeps threating to drag Jake’s attention away from their current predicament. He grinds his teeth, keeping his eyes trained on Piers’ back, refusing to give into the pain, even though every movement makes his leg feel as though it’s on fire.

“Over there!” Piers shouts over his shoulder, taking a hand off the handlebars for a moment to point in the direction of a cave, before veering sharply in the direction he indicated. 

Jake follows, risking a glance over his shoulder. The avalanche is almost on top of them, and he revs the engine, trying to push the ancient machine faster. The engine lets loose a low moan, but doesn’t cooperate. 

“Oh fuck,” Jake says, but it’s drowned out by the roar all around them. Piers flies through the entrance to the cave first, Jake following with only seconds to spare. The snow follows them in and Jake violently turns the handlebars to the left, sending the machine into a skid and throwing himself clear. 

There’s an awful crunch and then silence as it’s swallowed by the snow, which stops just short of Jake; it touches the bottom of his boots, as though it’s stretching and straining to reach him. 

Dimly, Jake hears Piers turn off his machine, but he leaves the light on. His boots make dull thud as he jumps off and runs over to Jake. Before Piers can reach him, Jake wiggles and arm from out underneath himself and raises it palm out in the general direction of the solider. “I’m good,” Jake lies, raising himself up on his other elbow and flipping himself over on his back. “Just need a minute.”

Piers’ steps falter as he slows to a stop. “Are you sure?” He asks hesitantly, as though Jake might bite.

Jake would.

“Stop wasting time, and see if this is a cave or a tunnel,” Jake grinds out, trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg. He should really check the wound, but laying on the ground is the more preferable option at the moment. He’s definitely not checking it with boyscout hanging over his shoulder.

“Jesus,” Piers snaps, and Jake can hear him walking away. He tilts his head back, and watches Piers disappear around a corner. Taking that as his cue, he shuffles over to the wall and uses the uneven surface to drag himself into a sitting position. Leaning back, Jake exhales shakily, before bringing both hands on either side of his left thigh and slowly tugging it towards his chest. His calf screams in protest, but he grits his teeth and doesn’t stop until the weight of his leg is balanced on the heel of his foot. Its agony, but now he can reach the injury. 

Of course, that’s when Piers comes back around the corner. Jake jerks his head up, and Piers’ brows are furrowed as he makes his way back over. Jake’s not completely illuminated by the headlight, more shadows than anything, so he’s sure Piers can’t see his leg.

“I said I’m good.” Jake spits. “What’s our situation?”

“I think we’re in a mine,” Piers says mildly. “We should be able to find a way out. Ready to go? Since you’re… good,” he adds, stopping a few feet away from Jake, crossing his arms and cocking a hip.

“I am good,” Jake mutters under his breath, “I just need some damn peace and quiet.” He takes his hands off his thigh, bracing them on the wall and getting his good leg up under himself. He slowly rises to his feet, which would’ve been much smoother if he didn’t have to all but crawl up the wall to get upright. 

Piers doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move except to furrow his brow further and purse his lips.

Jake can feel a sweat break out on his forehead from the strain. “Lead the way,” he says, motioning behind Piers and feeling inordinately proud that his arm doesn’t shake.

“Let’s see if you can make it to me first,” Piers says.

“Fuck you,” Jake says.

“You’ll still have to make it to me to do that.” Piers says, uncrossing his arms and rests one hand on his hip. Jake tracks the movement with his eyes before taking a steadying breath.

“I’m fine.” Jake says, trying to inject all of the politeness he can muster into his tone.

“So you’ve said,” Piers says lowly. “But you haven’t moved yet. If you would just let me help –“

Whatever Piers is about to say is cut off when Jake takes a step forward and his leg gives out. Piers crosses the distance in record time, catching Jake before he becomes intimately re-acquainted with the ground. That’s not to say they end up in any sort of graceful position, Piers’ right arm under Jake’s armpit and his left hand holding Jake up by his belt.

“Ow, fuck.” Jake hisses. “Thanks for the violation.”

“We don’t always have to do everything the hard way,” Piers says, somewhat breathlessly as he tries to drag Jake upright again.

Jake manages to get his good leg underneath himself and somewhat awkwardly straightens up, using Piers’ biceps to steady himself. “Sorry,” he says, using his polite tone again, letting go of Piers and wobbling a little. “Tripped.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Piers says, and bodily forces Jake’s arm around his shoulders, wrapping his own arm around Jake’s waist. Jake tries to push him away, but Piers just punches him in the gut for his trouble. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough that Jake stops struggling while trying to force air back into his lungs. “Stop being difficult,” He snaps, and half helps, half drags Jake over to the snow machine.

“You asshole,” Jake manages to wheeze. “I’m not an invalid.”

“No, you’re an infant,” Piers retorts. “You’re clearly injured, but are refusing help. Sit down,” he commands, not waiting for Jake to obey, and manhandling Jake down onto the bench seat. Piers crouches down next to his left leg, and takes Jake’s thigh in both hands. 

“Just fucking, hey - stop that,” Piers snaps, eyes burning up into Jake’s. He reluctantly stops trying to push the sniper away. “You’re going to tell me what happened, how you got injured. Before you fucking make it worse by trying to walk on it.”

Jake growls, but Piers doesn’t move. “My calf,” Jake bites out, “was shot.”

“You are going to tell me of any injury you have from now on,” Piers snaps, helping Jake straighten his leg so that he can assess the damage. He uses his knife to cut through the seam of Jake’s jeans. “Even if you stub your toe, I want to hear about it. _Understood?_ ”

“Sure thing boss,” Jake says and sucks in a breath as the material is slowly peeled away from the wound.

“Good,” Piers says firmly, ignoring the sarcasm and resting Jake’s foot in his lap as he inspects the damage. “You’ve still got a slug stuck in here, but I don’t want to try and dig it out. Not without proper medical supplies or even a fire to disinfect my knife. We need to get you to a hospital, sooner rather than later. I don’t want to see it get infected either.”

“That wouldn’t be pleasant,” Jake agrees through his teeth.

Piers cuts a clean strip from his pants, or clean in comparison to the blood soaked parts. “I’ve got-“ Piers starts, then stops, as he tries to wipe the excess blood away. Jake hisses as quietly as he can, because he can tell that Piers is being as gentle as possible despite his irritation with Jake. “I’ve got nothing to disinfect this with,” Piers finishes, somewhat helplessly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake says, curling his fingers into the worn leather of the seat. “Just bind it, and let’s get back to civilization.”

Piers huffs out a breath. “I don’t even have anything to bind it with.”

Silence falls between them and Jake shrugs out of his jacket decisively. He pulls off his shirt and hands it to a dumbstruck Piers as he pulls back on his now cool jacket. The jean material is uncomfortable against his skin, and he feels even colder than before, even as he zips it up. Piers shakes his head and cuts a couple strips out of his shirt, and binds Jake’s leg in as a makeshift bandage.

Jake racks his brain for something to say to break the silence and to take his mind off his leg. “Too bad you didn’t have a spare scarf. It turned out to be pretty useful,” he ends up saying lamely.  
Piers snorts. “Not just a fashion accessory,” he says, but it’s not full of the same irritation as earlier. “There,” he says, securing it in place. “I think that’ll hold.”

The throbbing has eased off some, but Jake’s pretty sure he’ll be in pain until they find medical help, so he nods in agreement. When Piers stands back up and brushes the dirt off his pants, and offers him a hand Jake grits his teeth and takes it. Between the two of them, Jake gets vertical again and Piers arranges them like before, Jake’s arm over his shoulders and Piers’ arm around Jake’s waist.

“If this was a romance novel,” Jake says, as they slowly make their way through the tunnel, the way Piers went earlier. Piers’ hand is warm where it rests against his belly, “This would all be a ruse for you to touch me.”

“You got shot so I’d touch you?” Piers asks flatly. When Jake whips his head around to stare at the solider, the fading light of the snowmobile illuminates Piers enough that Jake can see a smirk on his face.

“That’s not what I meant -”

“I know what you meant Casanova. Might want to keep your eyes forward, there’s uneven ground here. Wouldn’t want you to, you know, _trip_.”

“Why do you care?” Jake asks abruptly, surprising himself. Piers makes a questioning noise, so he continues. “Why do you care if I trip or not? Why do you care if I die or not? There’s never been a goddamn person who’s cared before. No one was standing around holding my hand to make sure I didn’t shoot up with that virus thing that bitch gave us.”

Silence reigns for a moment, and Jake feels ashamed over his outburst. Before he can negate the damage though, Piers breaks the quiet. “Well,” he starts hesitantly. “There is the whole, ‘your blood is key to saving mankind thing’.”

Jake feels something deflate inside of him, that he wasn’t aware of its existence until now. “Yeah,” he agrees, he tone steely.

Piers takes a deep breath, and Jake’s arm rises and falls with the movement of Piers’ shoulders. “However, even though you’re pretty much one of the biggest assholes I’ve ever met, and have the temperament of a porcupine, you… have a way of burrowing underneath the skin.”

“…Yeah?” Jake asks, hating the hopeful tone in his voice. He’s thankful for the darkness, for disguising the blush that’s broken out over his face and disappointed for it because now he can’t make out Piers’ expression. 

“Yeah,” Piers says, squeezing his waist, and Jake settles on thankful because a goofy smile has broken out over his face. “So don’t die.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Jake says, gripping Piers’ shoulder.

“Good,” Piers says, as they turn a corner and are enveloped by complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. If there's anyone still with me and still reading, seriously, thanks so much for your kudos and feedback. I'm not completely pleased with how this chapter turned out, but I hope you enjoy!

Their pace slows considerably, Piers maneuvering them closer to the wall and he runs his free hand along to try and guide them through the inky blackness. Jake widens his eyes, as though that will make the darkness recede any. Despite his efforts, he remains all but blind, unable to see his own hand in front of his face. They make it a few more steps before Jake stumbles over an uneven patch of dirt and his free arm pinwheels before grasping Piers’ hand, resting on his belly for support. Piers grunts with the effort of keeping them both upright.

“Fuck,” Jake says, because it’s a lot easier to say than ‘I’m sorry’. He plays with the idea of moving his hand, but decides not to in a moment of boldness. “How far does this thing go?”

“This particular tunnel? Not much further,” Piers grunts, reaching up and grabbing Jake’s other hand that’s gripping his shoulder. “The rest of this god-forsaken mine? I have no idea.”

They walk, or hobble in Jake’s case, in silence for a little bit further. Jake’s temper’s rising, he can feel irritation prickling along his skin; he’s holding them up, he’s a burden quite literally to Piers, and all but useless. He’s just about to punch something in frustration, when Piers slows to a stop and disentangles himself and helps Jake over to the wall to lean up against. 

Jake can hear Piers’ boots crunch on the ice as he walks away and a couple seconds later he can hear the squeal of metal on metal.

“The fuck?” he asks, any and all patience with this situation long gone.

“Opening the door,” Piers says, and the squealing stops abruptly, and Jake can hear Piers’ boots scrape against the frozen ground, trying to gain purchase. A silver of light shines through an opening just in front of him, and slowly widens as Piers pushes the door the rest of the way open before coming back to get Jake.

He stops just short of Jake, peering intently at him, the dim light from behind him making his hair turn golden. “We can take a break,” Piers suggests, tugging a glove off and resting the back of his hand against Jake’s forehead. 

It just goes to show how rattled the sniper makes Jake that he lets him, without trying to deflect the attention or slap the hand away.

“I’m fi- I can keep going,” Jake amends at the last minute, licking dry lips. When Piers doesn’t move, he reaches up and grasps Piers’ wrist and uses it as leverage to pull the sniper closer. “We’ve got no food, no water, and no supplies. I can keep moving until we find civilization.”

Piers huffs, but moves to help him again, transferring Jake’s weight from the wall to himself. They begin moving again, slower than before, but Jake can’t find it in himself to care that he’s slowing them down. 

“You know,” Piers says, carefully guiding them through the small opening into a dimly lit cavern. Jake squints as they enter, even though the light is far from bright, it’s an adjustment from blindness. “We’re going to have to stop soon anyway to regroup and find out where we are, and how far we are away from our rendezvous point.”

“Sure, sure,” Jake mutters through his teeth. “Well, whenever you decide. I’m good to go.”

“Oh my… _god_ ,” Piers hisses the last word and abruptly drags Jake back from the ledge they were using to look over the whole cavern. Jake’s roughly moved up against the wall, liquid fire licking up through the damaged nerves in his leg. His yell is muffled by Piers’ forearm unceremoniously shoved in front of his mouth. 

“Shhh…” Piers whispers right into his ear, the length of him pressing into Jake, but he can’t bring himself to enjoy the moment. “That thing is down there.”

“What?” Jake manages, in between huge gulps of air to keep the pain at bay. 

Piers gives him a deeply unimpressed look.

“Are you telling me fucking Ugly’s down there?” Jake asks flatly as Piers leans back and glances back over his shoulder to where they were standing. “Like the same son of a bitch that crashed our one-way flight to Finland?”

“We have got to get out of here now,” Piers murmurs distractedly, satisfied that they haven’t been spotted for the moment, and proceeds to drag Jake down the short incline to the door that, unfortunately, appears directly opposite Ugly.

In the one small stroke of luck, Ugly’s facing the opposite direction. Piers ditches Jake in the darkened corner next nearest the door and, one eye on Ugly, creeps closer to the door. Jake holds his breath as Piers examines the keypad for a couple minutes. They both jump as Ugly suddenly moves, one impossibly loud footfall carrying him further away. 

Piers jolts in surprise, his eyes tracking Ugly’s movements before he visibly collects himself and scurries back over to Jake. “Jesus,” Piers says, just loud enough for Jake to hear. 

“What’s the deal with the door?” Jake asks, shivering due to the sweat that’s broken out over his body from exertion. The mountain air alone is cold enough. “I can distract him so you can get through.”

“Okay, stop being such a shit,” Piers says, his words at odds with the way he crouches down and gently inspects Jake’s leg. Jake makes a face but doesn’t make any noise. “If anyone’s making a distraction, it’ll be me; you are imperative to the survival of the human race. I will be delivering you alive, even if it’s literally the last thing I do.” 

Jake opens his mouth, but closes it at the look that Piers shoots him. Piers moves away and searches the ground nearby. It takes a few moments, but he returns with a triumphant smirk and a short piece of rebar. Jake focuses all his attention on remaining upright while Piers unties the laces on his boot and carefully inserts the metal into his boot. He reties the laces and unties the bandage and secures the makeshift splint in place. It doesn’t quite reach up to Jake’s knee.

Jake winces, his bad leg trembling as Piers tightens the bandage. 

“Sorry,” Piers whispers, knotting the material. “I hope this will help. How does it feel?”

“Fantastic,” Jake grits out. “Nine out of ten, would definitely recommend.”

“Ass,” Piers says, casting a glance over his shoulder. Ugly’s still moving away, but Jake can see that he’s making a slow circle around the atrium. “See if you can put any weight on it.”

Despite his apprehensions, Jake knows they have to get out of here and so he slowly shifts his weight, evenly distributing it over both legs. His calf screams in protest, but doesn’t crumple under him. “You just don’t want to lug my ass around anymore,” Jake says, throat scratchy. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Piers says, both his hands still helping support Jake’s leg. “I can adjust –“

“Okay, now it’s time to go,” Jake says, and points to the very slowly turning Ugly. “Or we won’t have to worry about my leg anymore, because we’ll both be lying in pieces.”

Piers huffs out a breath, but hops to his feet and begins backing away from Jake with his arms outstretched toward the redhead.

“Fuck off and open the fucking door,” Jake hisses through his teeth. 

Piers purses his lips and narrows his eyes, but turns on his heel and moves stealthily over to the door. Jake’s left a panting, sweaty mess, but he slowly follows, silently wishing that Piers had seen through his bravado and stayed close. He watches Piers stop and wait for Jake to catch up, one gloved hand braced over the unlock button. 

He presses it as Jake reaches him, wincing as the loud _ping_ reverberates through the room. Jake casts a panicked glance towards Ugly who stops short. He doesn’t move at all though, and Jake’s just about to release the breath he’s holding when the door squeals open, metal scrapping against metal and rock.

Ugly turns with a roar, running before he’s even locked onto their location, and Piers grabs him by the collar. He hauls him through the door, ignoring Jake’s involuntary shout of pain when he places too much pressure on his bad leg.

The door shuts behind them quickly, followed by a loud bang as Ugly hits the door. The metal buckles slightly under the impact, and Jake swears. “You need to run,” he says sharply, forcing his fingers one by one to release the grip they have on Piers’ bicep. “I can –“

“You can shut up and fucking help me,” Piers snaps, wrenching Jake brutally in the direction of a rusted disposal bin. There’s something suspicious that’s dripped down the sides and has dried and flaked off around the base. Jake doesn’t even want to think about what that container could have possibly been used for. 

“You can’t possibly think hiding is our best option right now,” Jake grunts, chest heaving with the effort of ignoring the pain. “He’s _right there_.”

As if on cue, Ugly rams the door, warping it further.

“It worked in Edonia when he was _right there_ ,” Piers snarls back, lifting the lid of the bin. Jake doesn’t have a moment to even protest before Piers fucking picks him up and drops him over the lip.

Jake hits the bottom, chest first, only just managing to keep his head from ricocheting off the wall. His leg doesn’t fare nearly as well, and he tastes blood as he bites the inside of his cheek to keep the scream inside. Piers drops down nimbly beside him, bringing the lid down carefully over them both.

Jake’s only just managed to flip himself over, glaring up at Piers, when Ugly bursts through. The door finally giving way under pressure, his mechanical drill arm whirring in the silence that follows his sudden entrance. Jake stops abruptly in his quest to sit up, arm muscles shaking as he fights to be as silent as possible. Piers’ eyes are wide in the light that seeps in through the crack between the lid and the bin, face gaunt and pale from stress and lack of sleep. He’s half-sitting on Jake’s lap again, weight resting on his knees, one hand braced on the wall behind Jake’s head, one gripping the lid and holding it down over them both. 

Jake’s mouth dries up from a combination of fear and arousal. 

Piers drags his gaze from where he’s peering out through the small slit and he meets Jake’s eyes, colour flooding into his cheeks from the intensity of Jake’s gaze. He doesn’t look away though, and Jake tracks the slow, deliberate movements of his chest as Piers fights to keep his breath slow and silent.

Jake stops breathing altogether as Ugly moves forward, almost tentatively, as though he’s calculating all the possible places that the two of them could be. Jake just prays that Ugly’s as stupid as he is big, and that he leaves the container that the two of them are holed up in. Because Jake’s really ready to leave, not just because it smells like something died in here, but also due to the dark bruises that are standing out stark against Piers’ skin and the dark circles under his eyes. 

Wants to leave all this way behind them, wrap Piers up in crisp white hotel sheets and make sure he sleeps for a week, and make sure this look of abject fear never crosses his face again. Jake might be an ugly scarred bastard, someone deserving of this life, but Piers deserves so much better than to die here, in a foreign country far from home.

He slowly, hesitantly, releases the breath from his lungs as Ugly move past their hiding place, the second success in a series of hiding from a gigantic B.O.W., one that Jake can only hope will be the last. Piers’ face loses some of it’s palpable tension, and he lowers his arm from holding the lid closed to rest his hand on his thigh. 

Jake shifts his weight onto one arm, reaching out with tentative fingers until they brush up against the material of Piers’ uniform. Piers starts slightly, and looks down as Jake splays his fingers and rests his palm against Piers’ kneecap.

“Hey,” Jake whispers.

“Hey,” Piers croaks back.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to complain about the eye candy of the esteemed BSAA on my lap; my leg though, my leg –“

“Shit,” Piers says, scrambling back and hovering while Jake hauls himself into a more comfortable position, the blush having darkened and crawled up from under his shirt and up over his exposed neck. Jake is going to keep scarves off of Piers as often as he possibly can, because of course even Piers’ neck is fucking gorgeous. “How is it?”

“Well, it’s definitely been better,” Jake says, even though the throbbing has returned with a vengeance from the brief reprieve that adrenaline provided. “The hole in my calf sucks donkey dick.”

“Just don’t,” Piers stops and sighs, awkwardly hovering like he wants to touch Jake, but he doesn’t know how Jake will respond. “Just don’t die okay? Let me know if the bleeding increases or anything happens, because if you don’t tell me and you die, I’ll be fucking pissed.” He furrows his brow, and tries to glare Jake into submission. 

“I think you’ll find that I’m far too stubborn to die,” Jake says, as close as he can get to reassuring Piers.

“I find you a lot of things,” Piers retorts under his breath, but a smile is tugging at his lips.

“Really,” Jake says lowly, feeling brazen, before shifting closer. Piers’ eyes track his movements, but he doesn’t move away as Jake leans into his space. His lips graze Piers’ ear for a fraction of a second and a thrill shoots through him. “Is attractive one of them?” He asks in an undertone, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Oh my god,” Piers hisses, and jerking his head back and out of range. “This not the time or the place, Muller. Back off, quit rubbing up against me.”

Jake snorts, but doesn’t stop using his body weight to crowd Piers into the wall. “That’s not a no,” he points out, feeling strangely triumphant. 

There’s a moment of tension-filled silence before Piers nudges Jake back gently. “We are in a garbage dumpster. In a mountain. In the middle of nowhere. That, that… _thing_ followed us here. Can we please just not die?” 

That still wasn’t a no. 

“Fine, fine, no need to get all sensitive,” Jakes whispers back, reaching up to the lid of the container and slowly opening it. He takes a quick look around for Ugly before turning back to Piers. “Don’t worry, I was just kidding. No one’s found me attractive since an asshole in Africa tried to carve up my face,” Jake says jokingly, even though it’s the truth. “Don’t really have a winning personality to fall back on either. So untwist your panties, we’ll keep moving.”

“I-I- ugh,” Piers says eloquently, standing slowly, eyes trained on his boots. He runs a hand through his hair, the strands slick with sweat and blood standing up on end. “Okay,” he finally says, gripping the lip of the bin and leaping over lithely, landing in a crouch.

He moves down the hallway, checking around the corner at the end while Jake struggles to get out of the container, landing decidedly less gracefully and with far more noise than the BSAA soldier. They both pause listening, Jake with his eyes closed and _‘don’t be a pussy’_ mantra running through his head. He limps over to the wall, using it to help support his weight as he makes his way to Piers. Piers isn’t even looking out for Ugly anymore, still leaning out around the corner, but his gaze is over his left shoulder watching Jake.

“Eyes forward, soldier,” Jake murmurs, feeling vulnerable under his gaze and weak from the injury. Even his tone lacks the usual bite, drained as he is.

Instead of listening, Piers turns around completely, hand braced on the wall in a mirror image of Jake. “I’m going to help you,” he says, his tone carrying a warning. “Don’t fight me.”

“No promises,” Jakes says, but he lifts his arm willingly as Piers moves closer and slides his arm around Jake’s waist. 

“You’re like a Chihuahua,” Piers says, shifting Jake’s weight from the wall and onto him. “All noise.”

“My bite isn’t very pretty,” Jake warns with a shark-like grin. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Piers says, a small smile pulling at his lips, and begins moving forward, hauling Jake along far more gently than he had when they first entered this corridor. “Consider me duly warned.”

Jake doesn’t know what to say, or how to continue the conversation. Few people are interested in being around him for this long, and even less are interested in carrying on a conversation once they know how he is. Perhaps Piers belonged to that group of people to start off with, unable to handle the mercenary and without clearance to put a bullet in him, but that’s clearly changed. 

Jake doesn’t know how or what he did to being to change Piers’ opinion of him. He’s not sure how to broach that conversation either, so he settles for squeezing Piers’ shoulder and smiles slightly when Piers returns the squeeze around his middle. “Let’s get going, I’ve got blood to give and wars to end.”

Piers snorts as they round the corner. “Don’t forget about the money.”

“I… haven’t,” Jake finishes awkwardly because, truth be told, he had forgotten about the money. He’d almost forgotten about the blood that he’s supposed to be giving, the main reason that he had been brought together with Piers, aligned in the same fight instead of fighting against each other.

Mostly not fighting against each other. Anymore, at least.

They lapse into silence as they make their way through the maze of tunnels, moving as quietly as they can to avoid his attention, because being at the centre of Ugly’s undivided attention Jake has learned is not a good thing. Not quite like being at the centre of Piers’ attention, which while is uncomfortable for Jake, because he’s never been the focus of anyone’s attention for anything other than negative reason, is something he’s coming to enjoy. 

Like now, when Piers is so attuned to him, that he can sense that Jake’s ready to drop from over exhaustion, but Jake refuses to quit. Piers stops them before he can fall over, citing that he needs a minute to catch his breath, and maybe he does. Jake’s knows he’s no lightweight to be hauling around, but while Piers just needs a minute, Jake could lay down and sleep for an hour. He wishes he could contribute, that he didn’t have a fucking bullet wound, because they would probably be already out of this situation by now. 

Instead, Piers is breathing heavily, sweat beading up on his forehead and temples. And Jake? Jake’s a fucking hot mess thank you very much. His good leg is trembling from all the weight he’s put on it, and Jake’s not sure how much longer it’s going to support him. He doesn’t have a way to tell the time, but he ventures a guess that it has been hours since they left the snow machines. 

His wound is still bleeding sluggishly, Piers’ scarf soaked through, but there’s nothing they can do about that. The third time they stopped, Piers had bent down to check on it, probably because he didn’t trust Jake to keep him informed. What he saw made him purse his lips, the red becoming a thin white line, as he adjusted the bandage. 

They’ve stopped a few more times since, and Piers hadn’t looked any happier with what he saw. 

But now, Jake is feeling optimistic, because in an underground labyrinth, he feels air slow ghost past him, cooling his sweat further, and making the air on his arms stand on end. He reaches out with one hand for Piers, fingers tangling in the material of his jacket while he tries to peer through the darkness where he knows Piers is standing. “Do you feel that?” He asks, hoping that he’s not delirious from infection and that there is metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel.

There’s a pause, and silence for a moment before Piers asks hesitantly, “Your hand?”

“No, you literal dumbass,” Jake says in an undertone, using his hold on Piers to tug him closer to Jake, because maybe it’s more obvious where he’s standing. Nothing to do at all with just wanting Piers closer in general. “The air, I feel the air moving.”

“I missed your snark,” Piers says mildly, before falling quiet. “Yeah, yeah, I feel it,” he says after a moment, and Jake sure he can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, yeah I feel it,” He says after a moment before he pauses again. “Wait,” he breathes. “Do you hear that?”

Jake takes a moment to listen and then he hears it, the screech of metal on stone, far off but slowly moving closer. “Okay, let’s get moving before we have to deal with that again. Guaranteed we aren’t as lucky if we meet up with Ugly face-to-face again.”

“For the first time, I won’t argue with you,” Piers says. His right hand comes up and rests over Jake’s hand that’s still clutching his front, and he drops his eyes to where they’re connected. They stay like that for a moment and Jake swears with all that’s within him, that something is going to happen, something is going to happen between them. He feels sick and nervous, and he can’t fucking wait all at once. He’s not ready, he’s not prepared, yet it doesn’t matter because this is Piers and Jake doesn’t know if he’ll ever be prepared. He imagines it will always feel like he’s standing at the precipice of something greater than him, standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind roaring in his ears.

But then, Piers sighs. Without meeting his eyes, uses his hold on Jake to drag him back to his side and draw his arm back over his shoulder. Jake goes with little resistance, body moving on autopilot, trying to meet Piers’ eyes, but their boots must be far more interesting because Piers doesn’t so much as look up as they make their way down the tunnel. Even as the air moves with more force around them, Jake can’t help the sense of loss that runs through him, like he was cheated out of something great back there because of their circumstances.

Or something, because he doesn’t really know what was going to happen. 

The sense of loss doesn’t fade as they round the corner and finally see outside, the last dregs of sunlight flitting out over the sky, like a child fighting bedtime. He nudges Piers and Piers finally looks up, careful to look straight ahead and not at Jake.

“Oh thank god,” Piers breathes, moving ahead at a slightly faster clip. He leaves Jake with no choice but to follow suit, even though he’s beyond exhausted, and would like nothing better to just lie down and sleep until the BSAA finds them and transports them out of this hell-hole. They step out into open air, and Piers breathes deep, tension in his shoulders bleeding out slowly.

“Yeah,” Jake agrees, belatedly, as he unwinds his arm from Piers and forgoes all sense of pride as he flops down on the ground and lays down to stare at the sky. “Not much longer and you won’t be stuck with me anymore.”

“Oh Jesus,” Piers says, and his face suddenly fills Jake’s vision, the orange glow caressing his face. He wouldn’t go as far as to say Piers looks ethereal in the light though, not with the huge scowl he’s directing at Jake. “Seriously, why do you do that?”

Jake levels himself up on his elbows and glares right back. “Do _what_?” he grinds out.

“Say shit like that,” Piers says, gesturing irritably at Jake, like as though what Jake said is written in the air between them. “I’m not looking for a reason to get rid of you. I’m –“ Piers halts abruptly, looking away and biting his lip.

Jake’s well aware his eyes are wide as saucers and he holds his breath.

“I’m… well. I’m…” Piers trails off, looking back at Jake, but then focuses on something above his head. “Shit.”

“What?” Jake asks, confused.

And then suddenly, Piers isn’t standing above him anymore, and Jake forces himself into a sitting position just as Piers lands a few yards away, face down. In the time it takes Jake to struggle to his feet, Piers doesn’t move. 

There’s the sound of shouts before Jake realizes that it’s coming from _him_. Jake barely manages to take more than a few staggering steps towards him before he meets a face full of snow himself, a huge boot on his back anchoring him in place. He lifts his upper body as much as he can, his arms trembling under the increased weight load, until he can see Piers’ crumpled form. “Piers! _Piers!_ ” He manages, before the weight is increased and his arms give out. 

"Easy there, big guy." He turns his head to the side where a sophisticated looking Asian woman swims in and out of his vision. Jake sneers as he recognizes her. The woman who offered his comrades and him the special 'energy booster' that turned his companions into monsters. "We shouldn't spill all his blood before we get him back to the lab." She motions in Piers’ direction. "Kill him."

"Don't you dare," Jake rasps out, slithering a hand down to his belt, and grabbing the lone grenade he has left. The lady in blue raises an elegant eyebrow, a small nasty smile playing on her lips. He pulls the pin out of the grenade. "Either he lives or we both die." Jake gives her a smile that’s all teeth. "Good luck trying to scrape enough of me off the snow to take back to your precious lab."

She seems to see his reasoning, though she hardly looks pleased. She motions for a couple J’avo to attend to Piers. A few beats later, he sees one dragging Piers along the edge of his vision, the other one walking behind, weighed down by Piers’ guns. Jake takes a couple breaths, made difficult by the weight on his back and glares at the bitch. "I'll cooperate only as long as he lives."

She smirks. "You've certainly made that clear." She bends down and rips the grenade from his grasp, tossing it over her shoulder carelessly. As it explodes, Jake can only hope it brings another avalanche down the mountain, and she’ll be stuck at the bottom.

She motions to someone behind him. "Let's get going."

Then, there was nothing but darkness.

~*~

He should’ve known there wasn't much chance in them getting rescued. After all, the BSAA wouldn’t have known at all what had happened after their helicarrier crashed.

Or if they were even still alive. 

The lady in blue also doesn’t seem the type to make a foolish mistake, like leave a trail. Jake manages to piece together that they are in China now, and they have likely made the trip by helicopter or other mode of air travel.

Jake had thrown a fit when he'd woken up in his cell, Piers still missing. The lady, who had introduced herself as Ada Wong, had informed him Piers was perfectly intact.

"What, I'm just supposed to take your word on that?" Jake had spat, struggling against the restraints holding him to the bed. 

Ada had laughed, an emotionless sound. "I suppose not," she drawled in that condescending manner of hers. A few days later a monitor had shown up in his cell, and it turned on a few times a day, revealing Piers alive and breathing.

He’s originally tempted to dismiss the video feeds as recordings, but Piers has different bruises blooming on his face and body. Just as one begins to heal, another makes an appearance. Piers seems to pay them no mind, though Jake suspects they have to hurt. The brunet has a neat little schedule of eat, sleep and work out. It isn’t a very exciting schedule, but Piers doesn’t seem to be showing any outwards signs of emotional trauma. 

Not that Jake really has any idea what emotional trauma would look like manifested, but he assumes crying, rocking or not doing anything at all would be key signs. 

"What are you doing to him?" Jake snarls as he gestures to the television. Piers is sitting on the floor with his head tilted back, his right eye swollen shut. "I said to keep him alive, not bring him to your facility and regularly beat the shit out of him."

One side of Ada's mouth curls as she stares at him with hollow eyes from the other side of the glass. "You can't possibly expect that we would bring him here and not try to find out what intel the BSAA has. One might insinuate that it’s his own fault for not cooperating," Ada says slowly, not bothering to hide how much she thoroughly enjoys Piers’ lack of complying. 

Jake's hands clench at his sides. If she wasn't on the other side of the glass of his cell he'd wrap his hands around her windpipe and throttle her. 

Ada crosses her arms and brushes away some nonexistent lint from her elbow; like she’s trying to brush the unpleasant conversation off of her. "Now, on to things that actually matter..." 

Weeks turn into months, until it seems like all Jake's existence has been this blinding, white padded cell. Oh, he gets the occasional visitor, ones who poke and prod him, asking him questions about his father. Albert Wesker. From what he’s learned, it might've been for the best that he grew up without him. It’s bad enough the same blood runs through his bloodstream, in his veins.

Jake finds himself wondering every time he looks at the television if it would’ve been kinder to have let them kill Piers back on that mountain. He's long since given up on the chance that they could be rescued; it was a pipedream anyway. Would it have been better to have died quickly, or to be beaten and interrogated before they eventually murder him? 

Piers has an expiration date, and its approaching fast.


	4. Chapter 4

Jake paces angrily back and forth in front of the cell window, pausing only to glare at the television that hangs on the wall outside of his cell. Still black, still nothing. Jake makes an involuntary sound in the back of his throat and scrubs his hands over his head roughly. If Jake had longer hair, it would have been all torn out in frustration by now. 

It’s been three weeks since he last was able to see Piers. Three weeks since he’d been able to have visual confirmation that Piers, while suffering, was still alive and breathing. The back of Jake’s throat burns with suppressed emotion, one he doesn’t have the luxury of really feeling. Not in this place, not when _she’s_ monitoring his every movement.

With that thought, he raises a single, carefully chosen digit at the video camera pointing in his direction. Just in case Satan’s mistress is watching. 

He turns his attention back to the television, willing it to turn back on. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t co-operate with him.

“Dammit!” he shouts, rearing a fist back to pound on the glass. He feels the force of the blow all the way up into his shoulder, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s in a near constant state of flux, unable to just settle. He can vaguely see his reflection in the glass, and his eyes stand out starkly against the deep blue-purple bruises beneath his eyes. A week’s worth of stubble has come in, because that was the last time he was allowed to do anything remotely resembling grooming. 

But, for as bad as he looks, he can only imagine how much worse Piers has fared. _Has_ seen how Piers has fared, and all because of him. Maybe it would’ve been far more merciful to have let Piers die six months ago, because how much worse will it be to have suffered all these months only to be disposed of like garbage.

Jake presses his fingertips into the glass, whiting out the tips with the pressure. He’s a selfish, selfish bastard though, and he knows that, given the chance, he’d bring Piers with him every single time. Because there’s something about Piers that, even though he only knew him for a couple days at the most, has burrowed under Jake’s skin and refuses to be forgotten. Because Piers is intelligent, loyal, resourceful, bitchy and breathtakingly beautiful. Even though Jake feels weird attributing that word to another man, there’s no dying it. 

And there was almost… almost something between them.

Although, Jake’s starting to think he imagined those brief moments, after too many long days spent staring at the hard line of Piers’ jaw. The furrow of his brow. His full lips. Jake’s really certain he’s managed to amplify something out of nothing, but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels an inexplicable tug towards the brunette.

Or did. Piers had better be alive somewhere.

“Alright, listen up motherfuckers,” he shouts, balling his hands into fists and lolling his head back on his neck to glare up at the video camera. “Piers Nivans of the BSAA, had better fucking be _alive and well_ because that was the only reason at all that I’ve been complying with you nasty looking asshats. If he’s dead, you all are gonna wish you are too, because I’m not going to stop until you are all in a fucking dismembered heap. I’m gonna fucking destroy you all.”

There’s no response, not that he was expecting to receive one, and his own voice rings in his ears in the silence.

Piers had better not have survived Ugly, just to die here, beaten and alone.

 

It takes two more days, but when the J’avo show back up outside his cell with a pair of reinforced handcuffs he allows himself a small smirk. Obviously someone heard him, because the escort has grown by two extra members. 

They waste no time in shackling his wrists together, the muzzle of an assault rifle trained right at the back of his head. One of the J’avo who was hanging back, approached slowly when he received confirmation that Jake was bound, hypodermic needle in hand. It wasn’t the first time they chose to drug him, as opposed to forcefully removing him from the cell. 

Jake glances over at the still blank television, briefly seeing red, before training his gaze back on the J’avo who’s now sidled up along side him, reaching out to move Jake’s head to the side.

“Have to say,” Jake says haltingly in Cantonese, because while he’s fluent in English and Russian, he was never able to grasp Cantonese or Mandarin. He spoke enough to get his point across though. “Not really sorry about this.”

He moves fast, both hands coming to grab the hand holding the needle. Using surprise to his advantage, drives the needle into the neck of the J’avo holding it. While he has the upper hand, he continues with the momentum, driving the incapacitated zombie into one rushing forward. They both fall to the floor, cursing as Jake falls through the doorway. He rights himself with enough time to pull the lever and trap the rest of them in his white padded prison.

It’s not the most graceful escape attempt, but Jake’s pleased none the less. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath, and waves with a smirk at the J’avo banging on the windows of the prison. “Try not to have too much fun in there, ya freaks!” He says with a jaunty wave, and turning and making his way over to the electric box on the wall. He throws open the door with a clang, and flips the switch.

There’s a hum as everything powers down, plunging the room into darkness. Jake hesitates as his eyes adjust to the abrupt change in lighting, and a moment later the door opposite him pops open. Unfortunately, the security alarm powers on at the same time, a voice shrieking over the intercom in Chinese and intermittently in English. _“Two prisoners have escaped! Permission for use of –“_

Jake tunes out the rest of the emergency broadcast, temporarily stunned. “Piers?” He breathes, as he shoulders open the door as quietly as he can. “It better be you.” 

He moves quietly along the darkened narrow corridor, one hand braced on the wall in case his bad leg buckles underneath him. It’s improved drastically with his pacing around the edges of his cell, but he’s not sure how it’ll fair over long distances. He’s nervous to test its limits, but there’s no other alternative. He’s certainly not staying here.

Not when there’s a possibility that Piers is out there. Maybe making a break for it.

Maybe searching for him.

Jake tells himself not to get his hopes up, but something is knotted all up anxiously inside of him at the prospect of seeing Piers again. 

It doesn’t take very long for the power to come back on, bathing the hallway in clinical fluorescent light. Cursing, Jake uses his free hand to shield his eyes. There’s another door at the end with a security panel attached to the wall on the right. Jake steps up to the panel, eyeing it critically, unable to place the strange symbols overlaid on the buttons. He hovers one hand above the panel, unwilling to get the code wrong and risk bringing a swarm of J’avo down on himself.

Especially when he’s less than capable of dealing with them.

Jake drops his hand back to his side with an exasperated noise, and turns around to survey the way he came, as though that would provide valuable insight into his predicament. He can’t stay here much longer, or the J’avo will find him anyway, this close to his quarters for the past six months.

He feels like his escape plan is extraordinarily fucked, and he’s only just got out.

However, there’s a door on the side of the hallway that he missed the first time down, and Jake makes his way over to it and opens it to a room of computers and TV’s lined against one wall showing security camera footage.

He sprints over to the controls without a second thought. It takes him a moment, and then he’s flipping through the cameras rapidly, searching for Piers.

He sucks in a breath sharply when he finds Piers because Piers is alive. However, Piers is pinned down and crouched around a corner while J’avo slowly advance on him. He grabs the joystick to the right of keyboard, angles the camera and presses the trigger butting up against his index finger.

The hallway turns into fireworks of exploding zombies, and Jake manages a tight smile before he swivels the camera to face the adjacent hallway and destroys the mutants trying to creep up on Piers from behind. 

“Why the fuck is this so slow,” Jake mutters, watching as one cocoons and hatches into a Napad. “The rest of this facility is state of the art, and they cut corners on the security equipment?”

No one appears to answer his questions, but he does manage to make short work of the Napad, thanks to the seemingly limitless ammo that the camera has. 

He sees Piers cautiously peek his head around the corner and stare up at the camera. Jake purposely keeps the camera pointed in the opposite direction, hoping Piers will feel comfortable running by. Piers clearly suspects something the way that he cocks his head slightly in consideration, before running by with an odd gait, and one arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. Before Jake can swing the camera around and get a better look, Piers is down the corridor and out of sight.

Jake curses, and flips through the camera’s again, finding Piers in time to watch Piers break the neck of a J’avo from behind, and ducking around a bank of lockers to avoid another mutant who stepped into the room. “Nice,” Jake whispers, smiling and aiming the camera straight at the grotesque creature and squeezes the trigger. 

Nothing happens.

“What the fuck?” Jake says, pressing the trigger rapidly to no avail. “How is _this_ the only camera not equipped with a gun?” He says, slamming his hand down on the desk and rattling the monitors.

Jake watches him, feeling the same rush of helplessness he felt when he saw Piers, motionless, facedown in the snow. Watches him as he looks up at the camera assessing whether this one will be able to assist him, and for a moment they lock eyes. Jake knows Piers can’t really see him through the lens of the camera, but finally being able to look Piers full in the face sends a weird sort of relief coursing through him. Even though Piers’ right eye appears to be swollen and blackened. Before Jake is able to consider this, Piers looks away, dismissing the camera as unhelpful even though Jake would give just about anything to help at this point. Jake’s left to look on with anxiety bubbling in his gut, even though he knows that Piers can handle himself. If Piers can handle getting stuck with the shitty detail known as Jake, then he can handle one inept J’avo skulking about the room. 

Piers is still a solider, Jake can see it in the way he holds himself as he sneaks up behind the mutant and watches as the J’avo enters the code. The door slides open, but before the J’avo can even take a step, Piers is there. He’s so fast the J’avo doesn’t have time to do anything, his head rocketing off of the wall and dissolving into tiny little particles that Piers steps through as he tries to get through the door before it closes. 

Jake lets out a low whistle under his breath, cycling through the cameras again, and finds a host of J’avo awaiting Piers in the next room. He gleefully clears it, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Piers sprints across the room and enters a code in the next door. 

Jake flips through all the cameras twice more, not catching a glimpse of Piers. He glares up at the unhelpful monitors, wondering, hoping that Piers is okay. He releases the controls, and leaves the room finds himself in the same dead end hallway with a door at the end. He makes his way back down to the end again, one hand out on the wall for stability, and eyes the panel uncertainly once again. He vaguely remembers what sequence of symbols that Piers used, but he’s not completely sure. He doesn’t have any other choice though, unless he wants to about turn and walk right back into the cell he only just got out of.

He doesn’t have any other options. He’s not going back. 

He slowly enters the code, finger hesitating over the last key before applying just the slightest pressure. There’s a small happy sounding beep before the door slides open, Jake releasing the breath he didn’t even know that he was holding. He steps through the door cautiously, looking back and forth but there doesn’t seem to be any sort of J’avo patrol. He slinks down the hallway, this one less blinding compared with the last one, mouth twisted up in a grimace as his left leg begins to feel shaky. They had removed the bullet, but there had been no physio for his leg. Combined with the fact that he was less than active for the last six months, it’s clearly impacted the healing. He’s going to have to take a break soon, which isn’t really ideal in the case of this prison break.

He rounds a corner and comes face to face with a ladder, his brow furrowing. He has no idea who built this place, but he feels like they need to find and sue the architect who designed it. The ladder proves to be a challenge and he almost falls off halfway up, but manages to right himself at the last second. He stops at the top, panting a bit before pulling himself to his feet, relying on the wall more than he’d like to. At the end of this corridor he nudges open a door, stumbling through. 

“Jake!” exclaims a surprised voice from behind him, and Jake whirls around, managing to catch himself on a bank of lockers before his bad leg sends him sprawling.

Piers is standing a few feet away. _Piers_ is standing a few feet away. His heart hammers in his chest and a smile cracks his chapped lips before he freezes, fingers whiting out with his grip on the locker door. Piers is dressed in the same white drawstring pants as he, without a shirt. Piers’ entire left side from his ribs to his hip was an impressive display of purples and blues, yellowing around the edges. His right eye is blackened like Jake noticed through the shitty camera lens, and his chest looks as though it recently made contact with a stun rod.

“Fuck,” he manages, eye widening as he limps forward to close the distance between him and Piers. He reaches out a tentative hand, eyes flicking up to meet Piers’ warm brown eyes as he ghosted a touch over the bruising on Piers’ ribs. The soldier flinches, and Jake snatches his hand back. “What happened?” Jake asks in an undertone, not wanting to break the calm that has settled over them.

Piers exhales slowly, eyes closing and his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and shrugs. Face bruised, and beaten he’s still so attractive. “It doesn’t matter,” he says equally quietly.

Jake frowns, wanting to press the issue, but knowing that this isn’t the time. But they are going to have a fucking conversation about it, when they get the hell out of China together. Because Piers is not leaving Jake’s sight from now on. “Are your ribs broken?”

“I don’t think so,” Piers shakes his head slowly and opens his eyes.

Jake places his free hand on Piers’ left shoulder, his pulse ratcheting up against at the feeling of soft, warm flesh beneath his hand. He ignores that though, his other hand going back to Piers’ side to feel for obvious breaks. Piers sucks in a breath as Jake’s hand passes over a particularly tender area, and grabs ahold of Jake’s left arm and braces himself, fingers twitching. Jake pretends he doesn’t see the lone tear that leaks out of Piers’ good eye. “I think they’re just bruised,” Jake murmurs, “But I’m not a doctor.”

He steps back from Piers, watching with rapt attention as his hand slides down off Piers’ shoulder, and Piers releases his arm to let him go. He steps back again, and leans against the cool metal of the lockers, sending a shiver through him. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, careful to avoid Piers’ gaze. He’s practiced this apology to Piers almost daily, but he never thought he’d actually get the opportunity. Especially near the end there, when Piers was gone. He’s never been good with apologizing, but with Piers he actually wants to try. “If I hadn’t convinced them to drag you out with me, you wouldn’t be here… like this.”

Piers makes a noise and turns away from Jake to open the first in a bank of lockers. “I think it’s safe to assume I should be dead right now, for all intents and purposes. How did we end up here? What have they been doing to you?”

Jake huffs out an annoyed breath, but leans his head back to rest against the metal and closes his eyes. “As for how we ended up here, that I don’t know. I wasn’t conscious much longer than you were on the mountain. However, I do know that I’ve been a guinea pig for the duration of our stay here.”

“What?” Piers hisses, and Jake glances over at him startled in time to witness Piers bridging the distances that Jake carefully put between the two of them. He reaches out and grabs Jake’s arm, turning it over so he can see the inside of his elbow where the punctures from multiple needles have all but rendered the veins unusable and the skin purple. It’s nothing compared with Piers’ extensive injuries, but Piers still runs the pad of his thumb over the thin skin as though it’s really something to be concerned over. 

Jake clenches his free hand to keep from touching Piers himself, to pull the other man closer. 

“Did they –“ Piers stumbles over the words in a rush to blurt them out. “Did they inject you with anything?”

“No,” Jake says, and Piers exhales shakily. “No, just withdrew lots of blood. Ran medical tests on me. Talked about using my blood to enhance the c-virus, whatever the fuck that is.”  
Piers raises his eyebrows and his lips press together to form a thin white line. They stare at each other for a few moments, Jake’s arm still being held aloft by Piers, as though they’ve both forgotten about it.

Jake raises his eyebrows as well. “I figured that wouldn’t be a good thing, considering our hosts, but I’m starting to think it’s worse than I originally imagined.”

There’s momentary pause and Piers absently rubs his thumb back and forth over the skin of Jake’s inner elbow. Jake shivers slightly, because it’s been all too long since he’s been able to have honest to goodness human contact in general, and this is Piers. The solider he can’t fight an attraction to anymore. He can just try to minimize the fallout. Piers seems to come back to himself and let’s go of Jake’s arm quickly, a flush breaking out over his face.

Huh. That’s interesting.

“The c-virus definitely doesn’t require enhancing in my opinion,” Piers says evasively, jamming his hands into the pockets of the parchment-like pants. Jake rubs his arm from where the air feels cool after the warmth of Piers’ palm. “Why they needed your blood to enhance it is the question. Sherry would probably know.”

Sherry would probably know if she wasn’t dead already. Hopefully the good captain had been able to keep her alive the past few months, if she was even still in this part of the world and hadn’t been just shipped back to The States. That Jake is the illegitimate son of a lunatic named Albert Wesker, who was dead set on destroying the world and turning the inhabitants into undead creatures.  
Jake never thought he would miss time when his father was just an abstract idea that abandoned him and his mother. Life was so much sweeter then.

Instead, he shrugs dismissively, edging back from Piers, who appears to be cataloguing all the emotions flickering over his face. “I don’t really know.”

“But you do know something,” Piers presses, eyebrows furrowing before wincing at the pull on his bad eye.

“Stop that,” Jake says, pointing at Piers’ face and Piers looks amused for a moment, before opening his mouth, likely with the intent on grilling Jake further. “No, I don’t know anything. I just…” he trails off, unsure how to tell Piers about good old daddy, and hobbles over to the bench in the middle of the room and blessedly lowers himself into a sitting position.

“You’re hurt,” Piers says, kneeling down next to him and reaching for his bad leg, drawing Jake’s foot onto his thigh while he lifts up the Jake’s pant leg.

“Was hurt,” Jake corrects, placing his hands over Piers’ to stop him. “The bullet wound in Edonia. They fished out the bullet, but it hasn’t been the same since.”

“They didn’t allow you to exercise, or do anything with rehabilitation?” Piers asks astounded, as though he’s completely forgotten that while, yes, they are in a medical facility, they are prisoners of war.

“No,” Jake says, letting go of Piers’ hands when he’s certain that the other man isn’t going to try to undress him anymore. From the wrong direction perhaps, but Jake doesn’t need that kind of distraction right now. “I wasn’t exactly going to insist that they provide me with physio therapy when they had you…” 

“When they had me what?” Piers asks suspiciously.

Jake jerks a hand in Piers’ direction, trying to convey all of Piers’ injuries in one gesture. “When I didn’t even know what had happened to you, or was happening to you,” Jake amends, lying perhaps, but he’s not going to tell Piers about the television. 

“I’m fine,” Piers insists, tugging the pant lag back down brusquely, not meeting Jake’s eyes. He’s holding himself stiffly, none of the casual ease from before. 

“Bullshit,” Jake snaps, reaching out without thinking and grasping Piers’ chin with a gentle grip and turning Piers’ face back to him. He falters a little when Piers’ eyes meet his, Piers’ gaze a little harder than usual. “But there’s nothing I can do about it right now, not until we’re completely out of this. Make no mistake though, those fuckers will pay for this. All of them.” 

Piers remains still for a moment and Jake wonders if he’s gone too far. Shown too much of his hand and… maybe Piers didn’t like what he found. But then Piers breathes out, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jake echoes, and, daringly, keeps his hold on Piers’ chin. “Now sit up here, and I’m going to see if there’s any clothes that they’ve stashed in these lockers. Our first priority should be to get out of here, and then see if we can contact the BSAA or whoever Sherry is involved with.”

“I’ll help,” Piers says, glaring at Jake when the latter tightens his grip. “Jake, we’re going to die if we stay put here, let alone in this facility. You’re going to need my help, and treating me like an invalid is in direct conflict with our goal.”

“Fuck,” Jake says, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just resignation. He lowers his hand and pushes up from the bench, holding out the same hand for Piers to take, and hauling the other man to his feet. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”

Piers nods, clearly taking it for the grudging assent that it is, and moves around to bench to the other side of them room. Jake watches him go for a moment, and then reaches out and tugs open the locker nearest him, reaches in and pulls out a long sleeved shirt. He appraises it for a moment, before pulling it on. It’s a little snug in the shoulders, but better than the shirt he doesn’t have. He leaves the buttons open to give himself some more breathing room, and continues to rifle through the locker.

The rest of the locker yields black skinny jeans, suspenders and boots that look like they served in WWII. Jake’s really not sure who this shit belongs to, it’s the weirdest ensemble that he’s ever come across. He eyes the jeans distastefully. Just his luck, something in his size would be form fitting. 

Jake looks over his shoulder at Piers still going through lockers on the other side of the room, and while he’s preoccupied, drops the cotton pants and pulls on the jeans as quick as he can, wincing as his leg twinges in protest. He tucks the shirt in before grabbing the belt and suspenders and puts them on as well. 

It’s really not the worst thing he’s ever worn, so there’s that.

He pulls open the locker next to his and there’s more clothes in here; a pair of khaki cargo pants, a navy button up and a scarf. “There are clothes in here,” he says, turning to face Piers.

Piers turns, and gives Jake an appraising look, a small smile playing at his lips when he sees what Jake’s wearing. “Good,” he says, sounding relieved, and walks back toward Jake. “Hopefully there’s no suspenders, I don’t think I could pull them off like you can.”

Jake gives him a deeply unimpressed look as he reaches past Jake to grab the shirt and button it up. Trying to give Piers a modicum of privacy, he averts his gaze and moves over to the door, and leans his back against the wall, staring at the toes of his boots. 

There’s silence for a few moments and the rustle of clothing as Piers changes, before he says, “The tests they performed on you – did they have access to decent medical equipment?”

Jake looks up at the sound of Piers’ voice. “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t really speak to the ‘validity’ of the fucking tests, but yeah, the lab equipment looked pretty space age if that’s what you’re asking. Lots of machines and computers at any rate,” he says, as Piers straddles the bench in the middle of the room and laces his boots.

Piers nods. “I think we should find a control room, or bank of computers and see if we can get some of that data on you.”

“I think we should focus on getting the fuck out of here, not dying, and possibly finding weapons if we can,” Jake says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down his nose at the other man. “I’ve spent _months_ being tested. I don’t want to die getting the results of that. I don’t care.”

“That information could mean everything,” Piers hisses, clearly wishing for a fight, but unwilling to draw attention to the brief interlude that they’ve found. “What you don’t understand, is that if we knew how Neo-Umbrella was planning on changing the strain of the C-Virus, we could manufacture an antidote. We could save thousands of people.”

“Piers,” Jake says, trying for a reasonable tone, even though that’s mostly foreign to him. “I get it, but we’re not in any space to retrieve that information right now. As it is, I don’t like our odds of getting out of this without the data.”

“I’m getting that data,” Piers says stubbornly, finishing with his boots and standing up. He loops the scarf loosely around his neck. “With or without your help.”

“You’re absolutely fucking impossible; how could I have forgotten that?” Jake wonders aloud, glaring at Piers as the other man opens the door and sticks his head into the hallway. Piers ignores him, looking both ways. Rolling his eyes, Jake pushes past him.

For a moment, Jake isn’t sure if Piers is going to follow him or not, but then there is the muffled sound of footsteps as Piers falls into step behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAS THIS REALLY BEEN A YEAR WHY AM I SO SHITTY
> 
> Next chapter will be posted thursday, just finishing it up and putting the edits on it now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty much like Thursday isn't it? It's like, Thursday _adjacent_. 
> 
> See the end of the chapter for a list of translations, should you wish, but it's not required to make it through the chapter.

By the time they reach the front doors of the facility centre, Jake’s feeling real uneasy by how easy it’s been. They’ve managed to wander through an entire Chinese palace without alerting anyone, but Jake still feels watched, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. Tension makes his skin prickle and he can’t fight the feeling that they’re walking right into a trap. 

“Hey, hold up,” Piers says, grabbing onto Jake’s suspender to stop him from going any farther and releases it when Jake comes to a stop. The strap collides with Jake’s back sharply.

“What?” Jake grinds out, resisting the urge to deck Piers. The soldier is already injured enough. 

Piers doesn’t respond, just ducks into a hallway running parallel with the main atrium.

“The doors are _right there_. We can leave _right now_.” Jake mutters under his breath. “But, hey, let’s take the scenic route instead.”

“What?” Piers says from the end of the hallway.

“Let’s go!” Jake hisses, pointing violently in the direction of the ornate double doors.

“I found computers!” Piers calls, ignoring Jake entirely.

Jake rolls his eyes, but makes his way gingerly down the hallway to catch up with Piers. He’s been trying to put on a brave face while in front of the solider, but now that he’s out of sight for the moment, Jake’s posture wilts a little. He allows himself a grimace as he favours his bad leg. He schools everything back to normal again though when he rounds the corner into the room. He sees Piers standing in front of a bank of computers, some of which have his face plastered on the screen. His eyes widen as he crosses the room with quick steps to read the characters transposed beneath his picture.

Piers looks back over at him, brow furrowing further. “What? What is it?”

“Just give me a second,” Jake says, reading through the screens, when he notices a picture of Piers’ face, free of the damage that currently graces it, in the upper left hand corner. He can literally feel his face drain of colour, as he slowly makes his way through the information that accompanies it. “We have to go, we have to go right now, I’m fucking serious Piers.”

“Jake, Jake hold on,” Piers says, darting out a hand to grab Jake around the bicep. “What the hell is this? How can you read it?”

“I think you actually found the results of the experiments on me,” Jake pauses for a moment, unsure how to continue. “And plans to… get rid of us. You primarily. It’s not pleasant, and you need to listen to me for once because we need to leave while we still can.”

“Okay, okay,” Piers agrees, and thankfully doesn’t ask for clarification on what Jake’s read. “We’re going to go; we just need to take this with us.”

Jake growls, wrenching his arm out of Piers’ grasp, stomping to the back of the room as best as he can. He’s trying, _goddamn it_ , but he’s losing his temper with how little care Piers is placing on his own life. He whirls around abruptly and fiercely gestures at the computers. “And what’s your plan here? Are we just strapping computer towers to our backs and hoping for the best? Piers, whoever they are, they are watching us right now.”

Piers has already turned away to rifle through drawers beneath the desk, his shoulders hunched. “Look for a USB drive, computer chip, memory card… anything to record what we’ve found to take with us.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jake spits, taking a threatening step in Piers’ direction. “Fuck _you_. Do you really not give a shit about yourself? You’ve got less self-preservation instincts than I do, and that’s really saying something. I have given a shit for months you asshole, and –“

“Jake, _Jesus_ , yes I give a shit okay? But I can’t not try to take this back to my superiors. This is my job. If some information here could save thousands of people and I just left it all here to rot on this server, all those casualties, all those deaths would be on _me_. Do you understand? This is something I have to do,” Piers says, rounding on Jake and throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I have to do this. And I really need your help,” he finishes quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor and fiddling with the button on his sleeve.

“Oh my God,” Jake says, less heat behind it than before, and begins violently opening drawers haphazardly. He finds a phone in a small drawer, and he resists the urge to just chuck it at Piers’ head and walks more or less calmly back over to him. “Here. Call the monkey,” he says, holding out the phone.

“Chris?” Piers asks incredulously, though his hand reaches out to grab the phone. His fingers brush against Jake’s briefly, calloused and strong. 

Jake allows himself a smug smile. “Oh, you noticed the resemblance as well?”

Piers rolls his eyes as he powers up the phone, and Jake takes one more look around, searching for anything to record information to shut Piers up, and get them as far away from this place as possible.

“I need to speak with Captain Redfield, of Alpha team, 101st BSAA division,” Piers says authoritatively into the phone. There’s a beat of silence, as the person on the other end of the line says something to which Piers responds, “This is his Lieutenant Piers Nivans… Yes. Yes, I’m aware I’ve been MIA.”

There’s more silence and then Piers slowly pulls the phone away from his ears and stares at the device in a mixture of outrage and impatience. Jake can still hear a voice chirping away in the speaker, but he can’t make out any words. Piers jerks the phone back to his ear and says low and slowly, dangerously, “if you do not get Captain Chris Redfield on the phone _right now_ , I promise you I will make it my first priority to have you court marshaled as soon as I make it stateside. I have someone under US government protection in my custody.”

More silence. Then; “No, I’m not holding him hostage,” Piers snaps. “Put me on with someone competent would you?”

“Wrap it up,” Jake hisses, continuing to rifle through cabinets. On the second to last drawer, Jake lifts up papers searching underneath and there, lying innocently, is a memory card. He picks it up and waves it in Piers’ direction to get his attention. 

The smile that Piers gives him in return is the most genuine that Jake has seen yet. It’s fixed on him for too short a time though, as Piers turns his attention back to the computer. Piers clicks a couple keys and inserts the drive, allowing Jake enough time to get his shit together. 

Being reunited with Piers again? Well, he can’t put into words how good it feels to not only know that Piers wasn’t put to death, but to be standing in the same room as the stubborn asshole. That’s not including the attraction Jake is finally admitting, to himself anyway, that he feels for the other. But he really needs to pull himself together. At some point, they will be meeting up with the BSAA, if not Sherry and Captain Chimp themselves. They are eventually going to part ways and Jake is never going to see Piers again.

“Captain!” He hears Piers exclaim quietly in to the receiver. “Yes. For the moment anyway. Agent Birkin? Yes, Jake is with me. No, we’re both fine.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jake says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring daggers into Piers’ back. “Your chest looks like an elephant tried to dance on it.”

Piers tenses, and he looks over his shoulder at Jake, brows furrowed, but Jake’s having none of it. “No sir, it’s nothing,” Piers continues, trying to stare Jake into submission. “I believe we’re in China… Oh. Really? Okay, tell Agent Birkin I will send you our coordinates and then we can decide on a place to meet.”

There’s a couple minutes of silence as Piers just nods his head and listens to what’s being spoken to him. Jake tries to edge closer to hear the conversation, but Chris is talking low enough that all he can hear is the cadence of the captain’s voice with no real distinction in words.

“Yes. We’ll be careful. Thanks captain, it was good to hear from you too. See you and the boys soon,” Piers says, and then ends the call, turning to give his whole attention to the computer.

“Soon?” Jake prompts.

“Yeah, Chris and Alpha team are already in China apparently, escorting Sherry while they search for you – us. Apparently, the government and the BSAA consider it a very high priority,” Piers says, and the computer beeps cheerily. Piers pulls out the card and waves it triumphantly at Jake. “Good thing we have this.”

“That or they just fed you false information,” Jake snips, and then rolls his eyes while Piers’ eyes narrow. “Seriously, I don’t even give a shit, we are going right now. I will knock you out and carry you if I have to. I’ve spent enough time here involuntarily.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Piers says, a pointed look at Jake’s leg, but he finally gathers up everything they found, pocketing the memory card. “Besides, you’re going to need me. I think these miserable bastards are going to try and make sure we, along with anything we have, never see the light of day.” With that ominous premonition, Piers gives Jake a tight smile and strides back the way they came, leaving Jake to follow in his wake.

 

They reach the foyer at the same time, thanks in part to Jake’s slightly longer legs. They backtrack around the marble counter, glancing furtively in all directions, but there’s still not a single undead soul in sight.

Piers stops dead as they reach the giant Buddha statue in the middle of the atrium. “Okay,” Piers says, barely above a whisper, and Jake has to lean in close to catch the rest of his words. “Something’s wrong. Stick close to me.” 

“Wait here,” Jake says just to be obstinate, and makes his down towards the main doors, his stance low. He almost feels Piers’ low growl of irritation even though he’s several feet away, but when he glances back at him Piers hasn’t moved. He has however, clenched his jaw and there’s a dangerous glint to his eye.

“Hey,” Jake says, in an undertone. “Neither one of us is going to die. Got it?”

Possibly seeking to prove Jake wrong, there’s loud rumbling and the floor shakes a moment before Jake hears wood splinter apart and the ringing of metal being crushed. Almost in slow motion Piers’ breaks eye contact with him to glance at what’s happening over Jake’s shoulder, his hazel eyes widening and the fear replacing the rage. His arms unfold from where they were resting on his chest and he reaches out to Jake as though he can reach him from across the foyer.

“ _Jake!_ ”

Jake looks back at the ruined front doors, the tank sitting atop them heedless of the destruction. Time speeds back up as the turrets turns and Jake springs into action with  
enough time to avoid a shelling. The walls behind him are not so lucky, as parts of the balcony crumble under the instability.

“They have a tank!” Jake yells as he takes off following the path that Piers has cleared of J’avo up the stairs. Perhaps it’s somewhat redundant, but it’s enough of a surprise that he feels like it merits mentioning out loud. 

“I noticed!” Piers yells back over his shoulder before coming to an abrupt halt, as the Buddha-esque statue moves back into it’s original position, leaving only a solitary bar to bridge the gap. Jake sprints past Piers, grabbing the bar and deftly landing on the other side. 

And then crumpling as the shock of a shelling below him causes his bad leg to spill him. He looks up from his position on the floor to see Piers righting himself as well. “Go!” Piers shouts, making a shooing motion at Jake. “I’ll hold them off.”

“What?” Jake yells bewildered, clawing himself ungainly to a standing position. “No! Just get over here!”

“I’m not a fucking gymnast on the best of days,” Piers winces as the building rocks, and the tank blasts itself a path to them in almost a merry way, like an overexcited toddler. It finally clicks in for Jake, that Piers is injured, so much so that he can’t make the jump, and Jake feels like a fucking loser for forgetting. “I just… can’t.” Piers finishes simply, and throws the USB across the gap.

Jake barely manages to grasp it, shell-shocked fingers fumbling, but he manages to get a grip on it before it falls and tucks it away in his pocket.

“Go!” Piers shouts again, firmer this time.

Jake doesn’t move but to search the room for another way across. The tank is still firing wildly, weakening supports and Jake’s sure that pretty soon the top floor will be the ground floor. 

“There!” Jake shouts, pointing across the room. “I can boost you up from there.” He sprints to the area in question, purposely deaf to any protests that Piers is shouting at him.  
Jake’s just happy that Piers listens better to Jake than Jake does to him, and after a few moments sprints off in the opposite direction and down the stairs. Jake lays flat and reaches out his arm as far down as he can without overbalancing himself, and grits his teeth while Piers narrowly avoids the tank and the J’avo now pouring in where the front door used to be. Piers rushes up the few steps and launches himself into the air. They clasp hands, Piers letting out a pained grunt, and Jake’s hyper aware of how the tank is turning toward them; he pulls Piers up with all the strength he can muster. Piers is barely on the same level as Jake when a shell tears through the wall below them.

“Are you okay?” Jake asks, stumbling backward and pulling Piers with him, unable to force his fingers open to release Piers’ hand.

Piers nods jerkily, his free hand splayed out over his injured ribs, and breathing carefully.

“Okay,” Jake says again, feeling numb. Piers’ palm is warm, the tips of his fingers whiting out from where they’re pressed against the back of Jake’s hand. The tank abruptly grabs his attention, crunching ominously over debris that separates it from them, the noise almost enough to drown out the infected, shouting directions to each other. “We have to keep moving.” 

He uses their still linked hands to propel Piers along, squeezing briefly before letting go. Piers picks up the pace to draw level with Jake, his hand still holding tight to his ribs as they round the corner and backtrack down the hallway. Jake doesn’t have any idea where to go now; perhaps their best bet is to find somewhere to lie low until being shelled by artillery is no longer a problem. 

He’s just considering this, Piers worryingly silent beside him, when the world gives out.

 

He comes to violently, pain lancing through his shoulder, his ribs, and his bad leg. The pain steals his breath, the cry leaving his mouth as a low groan.

“Jake?” Someone says off to his left, and Jake against his better judgement, cracks open one eyelid, and the hazy form of Piers swims into view. He’s blurry and Jake can’t make out his expression, but his hands are outstretched awkwardly towards Jake like he’s not sure if he should touch him or not.

“You know,” Jake croaks, wincing at the sound of his own voice, and slips his eye closed again. “I think if we had left when I mentioned it the first time, we could’ve avoided the whole tank business altogether.”

“You’re obviously feeling better than you look,” Piers says mildly, and he feels the tentative touch of Piers’ fingers skim over his side, the touch leaving briefly when Jake winces, and settling, warm and large over the curve of Jake’s hip. “I didn’t want to move you in case – in case…” Piers’ voice trails off, before it comes back with forced levity, “So lazy, can you move?”

“ _Podonok_ ,” Jake hisses, and lets his head loll slightly to the side, until the right side of his face brushes up against something soft. He opens his eyes to mere slits and ignores the rolling in his stomach, to see that he’s resting up against Piers’ knee. 

“Okay, okay, that’s really good,” Piers says from somewhere above him, squeezing Jake’s hip gently. “Could you move your legs for me?”

“ _Da_ ,” Jake says, deciding to be agreeable at least for this moment and slowly moves one leg side to side and then another. “ _YA ne slomano_. You don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, I’m still worried,” Piers mutters and Jake glares up at his blurry face. He withdraws his hand from Jake’s hip, and it hovers briefly just above Jake’s face before sliding along his jaw and cupping the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the longer hair at his nape. 

“ _v chem delo? ya zhiv_ aren’t I?” Jake tries to snap, but it comes out slurred instead and he gives into the temptation to close his eyes again.

The fingers at the back of his neck tighten, boarding on painful and Jake grunts his displeasure. “Hey, no, you have to keep your eyes open for me okay? Open your eyes Jake, look at me,” Jake opens his eyes to slits again, glaring in the general direction of Piers’ face. It’s made a little difficult the way that everything swims back and forth slowly, like they’re on a ship.

“Good, good, keep looking at me okay?” Piers says, loosening the hold that he has on Jake’s neck, and resumes playing with the fine hair there.

“Normally, _chto ne budet problemoy_ I mean, have you _videl vashe litso_? But, I’m really tired,” Jake says, and it must be really true, because Jake can’t imagine himself being quite so vulnerable otherwise. His wrinkles his brow slightly, trying to think when his brain doesn’t seem to care to cooperate. Every thought is difficult and slow, without a filter. He tries to shake his head to dispel the sluggish feeling, but only succeeds in making his stomach roil threateningly. 

“I know, Jake you’re doing really good, I just need you to keep your eyes open and I need you to tell me where you’re hurt,” Piers agrees in that damned soothing tone, his fingers trailing warmth on the back of Jake’s neck, pausing briefly. “In English.”

Jake allows himself a small smile, because he’s doing good, Piers even said so, before it trails away when Piers’ words register. “ _Chto_?”

“English,” Piers repeats gently. 

“ _Moy,_ shoulder,” Jake says, trying to concentrate. He shifts briefly and pain lances up from the aforementioned area, searing white hot through his veins, clearing the fog surrounding his brain. “My shoulder,” he gasps, irrationally angry when he feels his eyes start to well up. “I think it’s dislocated.”

Piers visibly shakes himself, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I hoped it wasn’t, I – I’ve never done that. I’ve never had to do that before,” He says quickly, starting to ramble. “I mean, I know the basics, I was at least trained in the basics, but I’ve never had to apply them in real life –“

“I’m going to need you to put it back in,” Jake says, cutting off that stream of dialogue, scowling at the way his voice wavers with the pain. “I can’t do it myself.”

“Okay,” Piers whispers, shuffling and arranging himself in front of Jake. He reaches out for Jake’s arm and hesitates.

“Please,” Jake growls.

“Wait,” Piers straightens up abruptly and undoes the clasp on his belt, quickly threading it back through the loops. He folds the leather over once, handing the two strips to Jake. “Bite down on this. It’ll help when I reset your shoulder – help you from making noise.” Piers looks up at Jake from under his eyelashes as his fingers close lightly around Jake’s wrist. “They don’t know we’re alive. The longer that they think that we’re dead the better.”

“I know,” Jake says, setting the leather in between in his teeth and breathing slowly through his nose, to avoid jostling his shoulder too much. He nods sharply at Piers, ready as he can be.

Piers furrows his brow, an expression of concentration stealing over his face and moves Jake’s arm into a position that makes Jake grunt in pain. It’s not too bad like this, he can manage the pain, but then Piers presses his lips into a thin line and _pulls_. He feels the crunch, hears the audible crack as his shoulder pops back into place. 

Most importantly, he feels the pain, and he sinks his teeth into the hard leather. It’s not enough to prevent the sob that escapes him, the pain reaching an almost unbearable crescendo before settling into a low throb. 

Piers releases his hand quickly, and Jake cradles it to his chest in a possessive fashion, spitting out the leather. He hangs his head so Piers can’t see the tears in his eyes.

“Is it back in?” Piers asks, his voice caught low in his throat.

Jake nods his head jerkily. He hears a rustle of material, before he sees Piers’ knees shuffle closer to him. A loop of material is dropped over the back of his neck, and he watches as Piers’ nimble fingers guide his injured arm through a makeshift sling. It keeps his arm close to his body and relieves the pressure on his shoulder, easing the pain somewhat.

He slowly raises his eyes to look at the soldier, his attention caught by the lack of scarf around Piers’ neck. He drops his gaze back down to his sling and snorts, wavering back and forth on his knees like he’s had too much to drink. “I think you wear a scarf more for first aid then for comfort,” he says, scowling at the way his voice slurs.

“I think I might have to wear one all the time with you, just for that reason,” Piers says softly. “I don’t have any more though, so you’ll have to be good from here on out.”

“Yeah,” Jake mumbles, closing his eyes against the way the room is rippling in his vision. “I’ll be on my best behaviour from here on out. _Obeshchayu_.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Piers says, and his fingertips skid lightly across Jake’s face, stopping at his eye. He pries one lid open, shushing Jake when he lets out a grunt of displeasure. “I think you have a concussion. You need to stay awake for me, okay?”

“No,” Jake says, licking his chapped lips and drops his head forward onto Piers’ shoulder, burying his face into the exposed skin of Piers’ neck. He feels Piers go rigid, and he takes a deep breath, sighing it out before closing his eyes again.

It takes a moment before Piers relaxes, wrapping an arm around Jake’s good shoulder, while Jake uses his arm to brace himself on Piers’ thigh. Jake allows himself a moment to get lost in the embrace, the physical contact he normally abstains from. He follows the way that Piers’ pulse has gone from a neat, steady rhythm to a fast and erratic one.

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Piers says lowly, his lips making the barest of contact with Jake’s ear as he mouths the words. “I don’t think that you broke it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Jake informs Piers’ throat. “If it is broken, there’s fuck all we can do about it right now.”

Piers sighs, which Jake takes as his grudging agreement. Jake breathes in a few more times, committing this moment to memory.

“You better not be fucking falling asleep,” Piers says, his tone dry and not amused. But when he nudges Jake off his shoulder Jake catches sight of a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips

“Jesus,” Jake complains, but he leans back anyway, squeezing Piers’ thigh once before letting go. Piers gives him a funny look that Jake ignores. “What the hell else have we to do?”

“We should get moving, meet up with Agent Birkin and Captain Redfield. We should not lie down and cause further and lasting brain damage,” Piers says, standing and dusting off his knees. He reaches out a hand to help Jake stand as well. Which ends up being more of a production than Jake intends, between his now _really_ bad leg, his bad shoulder and his possible concussion.

They get him standing though, leaning heavily on Piers while Jake’s legs get used to bearing his own weight again. 

“We are so not making it to Sherry and Chris,” Jake says darkly, as they stumble forward through rubble. Jake wants to keep an eye on their surroundings, figure out where they are. But he’s so tired he can’t focus, and his head droops down, feeling the start of a massive headache coming on.

“We’re not even going to worry about Sherry and Chris right now. They have the BSAA with them. We are worried about where we’re going to spend the night. The first priority is staying alive, the second is finding a place to camp out in, and thirdly finding something to eat. Until we manage those three things, we’re not worry about Chris and Sherry,” Piers says, slightly out of breath from hauling Jake along over uneven ground. “I need you better.”

“So,” Jake says, scowling as the rough terrain jostles him and makes everything _ache_. “We’re not even going to think about Captain Chimp.”

Piers scowls himself, but seems content to conserve his energy, because after a moment he answers, “No.”

“We’re just going to think about me,” Jake clarifies.

Piers sighs, the hand on Jake’s hip tightening on reflex when Jake stumbles a bit. 

“Well,” Jake says, forcing some levity into his tone. “Let’s find ourselves our own little tank, and get the fuck outta here once and for all in style.”

“For once,” Piers huffs. “We’re in agreement.”

“I’d even go for an armoured car at this point. Let’s avoid horseback riding and motorcycles, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Podonok - Bastard  
> Da - Yes  
> YA ne slomano - I'm not broken  
> v chem delo? ya zhiv - What is your problem? I'm alive  
> Chto ne budet problemoy - that wouldn't be a problem  
> videl vashe litso - have you seen your face?  
> Chto - What?  
> Obeshchayu - I promise
> 
> It think that's all of them. I mean, it's from google translate so you know my grammar has to be atrocious in Russian. I have this headcannon that Jake can definitely speak Russian and English, because he's from Edonia. So I figured, an Eastern European country wouldn't be primarily English speaking. And I decided to go with Russian just for easy use of google translate. Which is why he slips back and forth between the two languages when concussed in this case.
> 
> This will be my last chapter for May, because the rest of May is FUBAR for me, and I can't imagine finding time to post. I mean, if I do yay!!!!! but I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be posted in June.

**Author's Note:**

> Serious shout out to very talented [viii](http://archiveofourown.org/users/viii/pseuds/viii) for beta-ing this. Thanks doll!


End file.
